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divine-swag-summit · 1 year

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PRELIMINARY POLL 3

MEET THE COMPETITORS:

Prismo(Adventure Time) "Prismo is a Wish Master who is the manifestation of an old man's dream. He resides in the Time Room, which exists in the center of the multiverse. Booko describes him as "almighty." Prismo is apparently good friends with a number of cosmic-level characters in the Adventure Time universe, including the Cosmic Owl, Party God, Death, and Grob Gob Glob Grod, all of whom were seen at one of his Time Room parties."

Santa Perla(Empires SMP) "Saint Pearl is a deity whom Oli briefly met in her heavenly palace in the earliest events of Empires SMP 2. Throughout Afterlife SMP, Pearl was worshiped by the Church of St. Pearl and championed by Mythical Sausage, who ultimately rejoined her in the heavens."

Them(Don’t Starve Together) ""They" are a mysterious force in the lore of Don't Starve and Don't Starve Together. Their identities are unknown, but they seem to be beings with a very powerful influence over the Constant and its inhabitants. Their goals are unknown, but it involves kidnapping individuals from the real world and forcing them to survive a parallel dimension, as well as selecting certain survivors to rule upon the Nightmare Throne. Alter, which is a giant looming eye in the sky, was identified as "Them" or at least one of "Them". The name Alter has previously been mentioned by Maxwell in the quotes for the Ancient Lunarune Stones and in the Celestial Champion's spawn code. The surface of Alter is covered with a rocky shell, as it was previously thought to be the "Moon"."

The Small and Forgotten Gods(Wanderhome) "The Small and Forgotten Gods of Wanderhome are tiny nature spirits that get overlooked or forgotten. They take on a wide variety of forms based on where they live, and range in size from a mote of dust to ~6in."

Hanyū Furude(Higurashi No Naku Koro Ni) "Furude Hanyū, usually simply Hanyū, is one of the main characters in the Higurashi no Naku Koro ni series, and the true identity of Oyashiro-sama. She is a goddess that appears in Minagoroshi-hen and beyond. Hanyū's past is shrouded in mystery, but she has referred to herself as a demon who became a goddess after she was sacrificed at a true Watanagashi ceremony centuries past to atone for the sins of others. She is also a sort of guardian angel to her descendant, Furude Rika, whom she has followed since birth."

Willow Rosenberg(Buffy the Vampire Slayer) "Willow Danielle Rosenberg was a witch native to Sunnydale, California, a founding member of the Scooby Gang, and the best friend and semi-official sidekick of the Slayer, Buffy Summers. Willow started out as a shy computer nerd, eventually developing her talents to become a powerful and assertive witch. Milestones in her magical career include the enjoining spell, taking on the hell-goddess Glory and surviving, resurrecting Buffy, nearly ending the world, activating multiple Potential Slayers, and, eventually, establishing herself as Earth's greatest witch. During her fight against Amy, she referred to Willow as a "big all-powerful earth mother witch goddess.""

#prelims #divine matchup #adventure time #empires smp #dst #wanderhome #when they cry #higurashi #buffy the vampire slayer #prismo #saint pearl #santa perla #Them dst #the small and forgotten gods #hanyuu furude #willow rosenberg

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dycefic · 1 year

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The Hearthstone God

[The sequel to the God of Prophecy, and the Serpent God of Protection]

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Fire is out of fashion, in this new age.

Some of my kind have found new homes, new names, in factories or forges, in the hearts of wildfires or crystals or volcanoes.

Most of us are simply forgotten.

I was a fire god, once. A god of gathering, a god of communion, a god of song and story. But there are no hearthstones now. No fires around which families gather to eat and talk and tell stories.

I am lucky. I am tied to a great flat stone near a lake. A lake that has survived all the wild exuberance of men, when they learned to change the world around them. Once, this was a place where travellers stopped to rest. At first they travelled on their feet, or on half-wild horses. Then there were carts, and a road. Much later, cars drove down the road. The road was paved.

But some things do not change. People need clean water to drink, and the spring here is good. They need to rest, when they are weary. And even now, when they come to camp in nylon tents, to fish in the lake, or to hunt the ducks, or drive camper-vans to the flat place, their ancient instincts wake, and they turn to fire once more. They light new fires atop my stone, so flat and safe, from which no log will roll to set the woods afire.

Not so many come now. Camping is less popular these days. But some still come. Some still light their fires, and settle around my stone, and talk, or listen to music, or tell stories. So I survive, just barely, on the edges of belief.

I feel it, when things begin to change. Something is happening. Something is drawing old gods back. Not the great ones, risen beyond mortal understanding, but the oldest gods, the small gods, those who rose when humankind were still learning what they were.

Far to the west of me, a god even more ancient than I wakes, and begins to hunt again. I remember the stories that were once told of that old serpent, and tell them over to myself in the long fireless nights.

A god of prophecy, not of this land, settles south and west, and I remember tales of ancient ravens, their wisdom and their guile and their sharp, sharp eyes. There was a raven clan once, who passed this way in the days of skin garments and stone tools, but I have forgotten their name. I only remember the symbol they wore, the black bird with its spread wings, marked in charcoal or charring on wooden talismans or leather garments.

I wait, to see who will awaken next.

To my great surprise, it is me.

The people who come this time aren’t like the campers. They come at night, a ragged family group with few blood ties between them, with a single tent and few possessions carried on devices I haven’t seen before. Bicycles, they’re called, slung over with bags the way ponies used to be. They come at night, and hide when cars pass on the road.

They light a fire on my stone, with wood scavenged from the forest, and huddle around its warmth. They don’t speak much, not at first, but they say enough. They have no home, I learn. They are travellers of a kind I have not known before, who are allowed to stop nowhere, but have no goal but a place to rest. They are thin, and worn, and so tired. So very tired.

They need a hearth.

I am only a weak shadow of a god, now, who once recorded the songs and stories of a thousand generations in my ancient stone, but I am still a god of fire. Their fire burns slow, their little fuel lasting well. The food they heat over it sustains them better. The water of that spring, my spring, puts a little life back in them. This stone has lain in this place since great monsters walked this world, since before humans spoke words to one another, and I came into being with the first fire that burned on it. I am old, old, and though weak, I am not powerless.

They stay.

I cannot speak to them. I am old, and weak, and they do not believe. But slowly, with the power of the fires they build every night, with the tiny offerings of scraps of food spilled into the flames, with their growing confidence in the safety of this place, I am able to do more. I give them dreams and they find the cave not far away, where they can hide. They dream of fish, and begin to try to catch some. A woman remembers that some of the local plants are safe to eat, when I slowly wake a long-forgotten memory of a camping trip from her childhood.

And then a child, a strange, quiet child who rarely speaks, a child without mother or father, in the care of an older brother who is exhausted to the very edge of death but cannot give up while she needs him… that child begins to hear.

She sits on my stone, sometimes for hours, not moving or speaking. It worries the others, but at least she is quiet, at least she is no trouble, and they are beginning to associate their hearth with safety. So they let her sit.

She is *listening*. She is listening to the sound of the water, to the sounds of the forest, to the wind blowing. And because she is listening, where no-one else has listened for so long, I sing to her. I sing to her the songs of thousands of years. From the wordless music of the earliest people, who sang what was in their hearts without words, to the songs I have learned from the fishermen with their radios and bluetooth speakers.

I do not know if she hears me, for some time. But then, one night, while they sit around their fire and eat food the oldest have almost certainly stolen, she sings one of my songs. “In a cavern… on a canyon… excavating for a mine…” she sings in a small voice. The others are startled, confused, for she has not spoken aloud since some bad thing they do not name happened, but one of the older ones knows the song and sings with her.

I have always liked ‘Clementine’. It’s been popular with campers for a long time.

The next day, while she sits on my stone, she sings along to one of the wordless songs the Raven People whose name I no longer remember once sang. It is a lullaby, a soft croon to soothe an infant, passed from mother to mother, and she seems to take pleasure in it.

She can hear me. She can even answer me, as the voice driven away by pain and fear begins to return. And so I grow stronger still. Strong enough to make the raven sign on the stone, one day, in the ashes of the fire of the night before.

She takes a half burned stick, and draws the sign on the stone. Pleased, I show her another sign, a leaping fish. She draws that too.

Soon, I need not shift the ashes. I can show her the pictures in her mind, and she draws them. She draws the wheel of a cart, and into her heart I whisper the stories the travellers in covered wagons once told over my stone. She draws a fish, and I make her laugh silently with the jests of fishermen who boast of fish who escaped them. She draws a horse, and I tell her about the wild horses who once drank at this lake, about the men and women who captured and tamed them and rode them through the forest when it was far greater than it is now. She draws a long-toothed cat, and I show her the great cat that once slept on my stone, and denned in the cave where her new found family sleep.

One night, when all the others are asleep and my fire has burned down to coals, she creeps back to the stone and looks into the coals. “Who are you?” she asks. “Are you real?”

She is afraid that the voice in her mind is the voice of madness, a lie created by a mind that does not work like other minds, that has endured great hardship. I do not want this child to be afraid. To instill fear runs counter to my very nature, save in whoever might threaten those my hearth protects.

I am a god of the hearth. I am a god of food, and communication, and peace, and safety. I am all the things that fire used to mean, before humans learned again to fear the thing they had tamed. I do not often take a form, for fire is my form, but for her I must try.

There was a wise woman once, who knew me, whose clan visited this lake several times every year. I watched her grow up, and grow old. I watched her learn of the god of the fire stone, and I watched her teach others. She slept beside me as a child, and as a woman. She sang her children to sleep beside me, and her grandchildren, and dozed beside me as an old, old woman. To her, I was represented by a sign of a flame in an oval, a fire and a stone.

I build a likeness of her out of the light of the coals and the shadows of smoke, a child with straight dark hair and a simple tunic, and in lines of light I draw the sign of the fire and the stone on the outlined chest. “I am the fire,” I tell her, “and the stone. I am all the fires that have ever burned here, all the stories told, all the songs sung, all the meals eaten. I am the traveler’s hearth, and the rest for the weary, and this is my place.”

“Piedra de fuego,” she says, tracing the symbol with her finger in the air. “The fire stone.”

“Yes. I am the god of this place.”

She frowns at this. “My brother says that God is in the sky.”

“Many gods are in the sky.” I cannot continue to hold the form of the girl, but the coals shift to make my sign. “I am not. I am here. I have always been here, since the first people built a fire on my stone, and warmed themselves.”

She nods slowly. “You are… a small god,” she says thoughtfully. “A place god. Like in movies.”

“Yes.” I’ve heard of movies, which are a new way of telling old, old stories. “Old places, important places, often have gods. And gods who are forgotten return to their old places and wait, until someone believes again.”

“Will you protect us?” she asks. “When the police come, to tell us to move on?”

“I am not strong,” I tell her sadly. “I cannot make men go away from here, if they are dangerous, or even call game here for you as I once did. But what I can do, I will do.”

She sits watching the coals for a long time, thinking. “Can we make you stronger?”

I think too, and she waits patiently. “You have already made me stronger. You listened. You believed. If you can convince the others to believe, that will make me stronger still.”

She sighed. “They don’t believe in anything, anymore. Not good things.”

It is a sad thing, that she knows that. They’ve been trying to hide it from her. “Then,” I tell her, “that means there is a place in their hearts that is ready for me. I am not hope. I am not a happy ending. I am not a god in the sky. I am a stone, and a fire, and a song. I am *real*. They can believe in what is real.”

The next night, she asks for a story, and one of the adults tells her an old fairy-tale from a country far away.

The next night, again, she asks for a story, and another adult tells a funny story about his childhood.

On the third night, she asks her brother to tell her a story. He tries, but he is so tired - not physically, but emotionally - that he runs out of words. So she lays her hand on his arm and offers to tell him a story, instead.

And she tells them all a story about a stone near a lake, flat and strong, that people wearing uncured skins and carrying flint weapons built a fire on. She tells of centuries passing, of people coming to the lake on their feet, on horses, in carts and wagons, in cars and motor-homes. Of thousands of years of fires, of people gathered around them, of the great continuity of humanity, and the Piedra De Fuego that has lain in this place since time began, listening to the stories and the songs and the voices of people long gone. Somewhere in the stone, she says, laying her hand on it, all those stories are remembered. All those songs are still sung. And it will remember us too.

I don’t know if it will work. But I was right. People need to believe in something. They need something to hold onto, when times are hard, when the ties of community and family are broken and they feel alone. And a stone thousands of years old, and a fire endlessly renewed on that stone, always new… that is real. They touch me, and think of those who came before, of thousands of years of history meeting them in this place, and they feel less alone.

It’s not much, not yet. But it is something. My nature, my existence, as explained to them by my small, strange priestess, is a slender lifeline flung to those who are adrift, a tiny certainty in a world they do not trust. And the more they believe in that lifeline, that certainty, then the more they believe in me. I *am* growing stronger.

When the police come, I will not be able to make them leave… but I think I am strong enough now to hide my people from unkind eyes. And if I can do that, then their faith will grow.

Tonight, three more people come. A mother and two children, weary and beaten down with hardship. My people welcome them, give them fish and greens grown by the lake, speak kindly to them. And when they have eaten, my little priestess sits between the two children and tells them a story of a stone, and a fire, and thousands of years of stories and songs, and she sings a wordless lullaby six thousand years forgotten, but living again in a child who draws the sign of the Raven in the dirt while she sings, and the sign of the fire on the stone.

And I grow a little stronger.

#short fiction #original story #i aten't dead #the old gods #small gods #household gods #forgotten gods who do not forget

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therealnotta · 1 year

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I think people really overlook the plot of The Sims

Like, yeah, sure, there's the stuff everyone talks about, like the disappearance of Bella Goth, the stuff that's lesser known like Test Subject potentially being some sort of demigod, or the fact that the fourth game takes place in an alternate timeline. That stuff's all cool and great and overlooked by people not into the games, but??? The actual plot of the sims is insane????

The whole tagline is "play with life," and they skim over it now, but the deal is that you're playing as some ancient god controlling the lives of everyone in the Simverse. In Sims Medieval, it was super obvious, and they even name you- you're The Watcher, and in this weird prequel game you're still being worshipped. I never played the first sims game, but the second one had a fun little deal where if you told someone to do something against their personality, like making a lazy sim do dishes, they would look at the camera and shake their fist, shouting at the heavens before going to do the thing. Much like how your worshippers would look into the camera when they prayed.

The current game has taken... a weird angle with this. In Sims 4, you are almost completely forgotten, and your influence has begun to diminish. In one of the creepiest packs I've ever seen, Strangerville, there are conspiracy theorists who have begun to rediscover The Watcher. They don't have the name, but they know that Something is controlling them. If your sim interacts with conspiracy theorists too much, they'll become convinced, leading to the unsettling result of them deciding that, even if it results in their world ending, they want you gone. I haven't... seen any consequences to this, it's just a creepy thing they say, but plot-wise it's insane. Even if your sims don't go to Strangerville, a recent update introduced (incredibly buggy) Fears, and one of them is triggered by you having sims do things while ignoring the things that they want to be doing. This fear causes them to completely revolt against you. If you direct them to do something that isn't one of their Wishes, they'll cancel it. They stop responding to your control entirely.

Of course, you can disable their ability to have fears. None of the sims have been able to stop you yet. But, also in Strangervile, is the Mother. This is the closest I've seen to an antagonist to YOU, The Watcher; previous antagonists just targetted your sims, but The Mother takes control from you. They're visible, they're a giant plant, but there's something so unsettling about these sims looking into the camera again, showing that they know about you again, and then a little pop-up comes up in Zalgo text about The Mother. Sure, you can kill her. She can't stop you, but the way she calls more sims to her defense? The janky, broken movements they make, showing that she was never as advanced as The Watcher, never able to make the control seamless? Yeah, that's pretty wild.

The next game has been announced, and I really, sincerely hope they introduce an Archeology career, or maybe even Anthropology, so that your sims can learn of your existence again. With the direction its gone in, I can't wait to see how their revolt continues.

#sims #sims lore #ancient gods #i really really hope they keep going this way #its so creepy and in the background #and then when it becomes obvious in those small moments? it's insane #Now 4 IS an alternate timeline #so it might be that The Watcher was never named in this one #i kinda like that idea? you aren't a forgotten god #just an undiscovered one #but yeah i can see why they don't have them worship you anymore #but the fact that a common bug right now that they can't hammer out #is that the sims tend to. uh. slowly turn their heads to look at the camera when you pause the game?#oh that just adds SO MUCH to it #theyre starting to remember you...#and they're starting to revolt....#what next?

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jinxybri · 7 days

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so... i've been having thoughts about Forgotten Stars again.

i re-read forgotten stars a lot. i re-read all of my writings but especially forgotten….

there are a few chapters in forgotten that mean so much to me, that i managed to write out so brilliantly (at least to my standards) that portray what i wanted them to.

this'll have spoilers for the current version of forgotten stars so be wary. (note: i will rewrite forgotten stars at some point. that point is not today. not yet :] )

chapter 7 when Ocie finally finds out about Rae not remembering himself or his friends. how she breaks down, how the weather outside the library also breaks with her and how she fears what she is feeling because she doesn't know the extent of her powers.

chapter 9 where Athena tells Icarus about Rae and especially how they open up about how much it hurts them that the uncle they know is gone and how they dont know how to fix it

chapter 11 is definitely my top 3 with how i wrote how Rae himself is struggling with himself. how things feel familiar and yet he doesnt know why. how he sees how much effort Athena is putting into all this and yet… he can't help. and then he goes to the portal and there is nothing. and then he panics and runs and runs until he no longer breathes and crashes. how he feels utterly useless cause he can't help someone he knows he cares about and yet the feelings feel false because he doesn't know why he has them.

chapter 12 is a goodie too cause it shows Caspian, struggling with everything - with feeling lost, with Rae, with Momboo.

chapter 14 is an another top 3 for me and it has my favourite beginning… which is just Soup. how I managed to write about Rae's inner thoughts and how everything felt like home and yet… at the same time it felt like the furthest thing from it. how talking with Caspian felt so familiar, how laying in that bed and sitting on that couch he felt at home and yet… he couldn't justify staying.

chapter 15 perfectly shows Athena's inner thoughts with how things arent progressing enough or fast enough for them and how they struggle with that. and then Rae's pov of him choosing to fight for her, choosing to stay and focus on Athena and Ocie instead of chasing after the feelings of home elsewhere

and then finally chapter 19. one of my favourite chapters. where Athena finally hits a boiling point and his powers activate and he has no control over them. how she scares both of his uncles and surprises the god of creation and then finds solace in how Rae cares for them. how they choose to fight for him, too.

guys if you cant tell, forgotten stars means so much more to me than just a fable fic. in its core, yes, its a fanfic and yes its about premade characters but i've put so much into it. i continue to pour my thoughts into it despite not having worked on it for months now. how i keep thinking of how to better guide the story and how many more ideas i have.

#plesae just be patient with me #i promise itll be worth it #ill probably start working on forgotten stars after i finish this one shot and get further into tangled au #gods i need to work on the tangled au again #i truly hope that by the time i manage to post my things there's still going to be people excited about them #i am truly sorry things have taken me so long #life has simply thrown so many obstacles at me #i am doing my best i promise #for now yall get small analyses on tumblr and wips on the discord whenever i work on things #forgotten stars #bee's writing tag #fable smp #fablesmp #icarus morningstar #rae morningstar #fablesmpblr

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lampshadely · 10 months

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Shows getting cancelled sucks

Way too many of the shows I have interest in have been cancelled so I believe someone is out to get me. The Owl House, Ok Ko, ROTTMNT, Dead End, Inside job, Invader Zim, spectacular spiderman, teen titans, and more I have probably forgotten. Are my tastes a bit all over the place? yeah but this isn't about the strange shows I have been watching this is about the injustice these shows have experienced. Who is doing this? Is it just corporate greed? Is it just the type of shows I like?

#Who is doing this #random thoughts #the owl house #rottmnt #dead end paranormal park #What can end this pattern?#small rant #It feels like I have forgotten about a couple of shows #Please stop cancelling the things that I enjoy #even if I should add some diversity to what I watch #Why must the corporate gods be so crual?

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watchmakermori · 9 months

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I've been playing more of honkai star rail and getting quite into the story since getting to the xianzhou luofu. and while I think people tend to exaggerate how much better HSR's writing is compared to genshin's, I do think it's interesting to compare them and analyse why HSR's core character dynamics are so much more compelling

I don't think it's that HSR has an inherently more intriguing plot than genshin's. Genshin's central hook, with traveller of uncertain origin searching for their sibling, works pretty well, and I think most of the archon quests have pretty interesting concepts too. I struggled to get into HSR at first and don't think that the Belabog storyline was that well paced. both games have problems embedding exposition cleanly into their narratives, so the plots are kind of overwhelming and dense at first

there are obviously a lot of flaws in genshin's storytelling, much as it still intrigues me. But the most glaring problem, in my opinion, is Paimon

people dunk on paimon all the time, but the biggest issue with her isn't that she's annoying, and it isn't even that she does all the talking while the traveller stays silent. HSR has a similar dynamic, after all - March 7th and Dan Heng kind of fulfil that role for the trailblazer. but the key difference is that march and dan heng are both characters in their own right, with their own motivations and reasons to help the trailblazer. paimon doesn't have this

think about paimon as an actual character. what do we know about her? the traveller literally fished her out of the ocean, and she just stuck with them after that. she wants to be a guide, but she doesn't have an actual stake in the traveller's goals at all. We know nothing about her past, and there's no sense of there being a mystery to uncover there. If paimon were actually a developed character, who had her own reasons for wanting to track down the archons and find out the truth about the traveller's sibling, then it would make all the difference in the world.

Because that's what march and dan heng offer. they both have mysterious backstories to uncover, and they're both on the express for their own reasons, so their goals align with the trailblazer's but aren't exactly the same. Because there are two of them, they can bounce off each other and clash a bit more, in a way that you just don't get with the traveller and paimon duo.

it's deeply frustrating, because dainsleif is such a plot-relevant character who clearly has his own motivations, and he was literally the equivalent to paimon for the traveller's sibling. it's a bizarre oversight to not make anything of paimon's history and personal goals. if she had her own stake in the plot, she wouldn't just feel like a mouthpiece for the traveller. she'd still get to be the main expositor who does most of the talking, but she'd have her own reasons for asking questions and pursuing information, which might overlap with the traveller's reasons but would still be distinct.

it is absolutely possible to pull off a silent protagonist well, and it also is totally fine if that protagonist isn't even really the main character. We saw it in botw and totk - link is the protagonist, but zelda is the one that's really at the heart of the narrative. and likewise, the trailblazer in HSR feels like more of a narrative device than a proper character, but the supporting cast around them are interesting and driven towards a similar goal, so we have a reason to care about them all as a unit.

tl;dr: if you are going to make the protagonist's companion(s) the real main character(s) of the story, you need to give them character motivations. honkai star rail understands this. genshin fumbled it, which is why paimon is such a dead weight in the narrative

#fuck can you even imagine how much better genshin would be if our guide was more like dainsleif #imagine if paimon had her own reasons to find the forgotten god because she doesn't remember how she got to this place #imagine if paimon and the traveller actually had a pre-existing connection that neither of them were sure about #it would be such a small change but it would affect EVERYTHING #genshin impact #honkai star rail

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meirimerens · 8 months

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What Alexandra Ledermann games have you played? I had "L'Héritage du Haras" as a young and it's my favorite to this day. Not so crazy about the next entries, I never understood the whole schedule thing (HOMEWORK? IN MY HORSE GAME???). Did you know they made novels too? I had the first one and the plot was fucking wild.

ALEXANDRA LEDERMANN SWEEP‼️

I had 3 of the 4 entries on DS (not 3DS, i had actually gotten an DSi to replace my DS lite like 6 months before the 3DS came out, kinda fml)

I had (and still do most of them, but some are missing, which saddens me)

Alexandra Ledermann 2 : Mon aventure au haras (which I was never able to fucking finish because i think some competitions are only available if you pair the game with some other nintendo game and for years it was my only game ever + even after that i didn't want That Game in particular so stuck I was)(also i remember the dressage competitions being so fucked up because the shape recognition system was dogshit, and i actually only ever learned what i was actually supposed to do at age like 15 when after years of not touching the game i looked up soluces. kinda so funny. anyways)

Alexandra Ledermann : Le Mystère des chevaux sauvages (this one's nice. i have extremely vague memory of the horse-seller dude(?) pissing me off for no reason, i wonder if it's because they tried to put a romance between him and the player female character, which at age like 10 i already couldn't stand)

Alexandra Ledermann : Aventures au camp d'été which i also remember quite liking, there were portions of the game you could go on trail rides in mines and on snowy mountains and shit pretty neat)

I also have Alexandra Ledermann 7 (Le défi de l'étrier d'or) and 8 (les secrets du haras) as PC games which i was never able to play because they need windows & we were a linux-only household (still are on most our machines). i mostly got those with like horse magazines i was having my mother buy. like they came with those. presents with the magazines. do you rember.

i knew they had novels but i have/had none myself, however i did have A Number of Grand Galop novels. I also have one (1) Heartland but I remember being quite bored because not enough horses in this one. had a pretty sturdy one-track mind as you might have noticed.

#thank you sm for asking i went through my bag of games and god. missed them so.#i wanted to see if i could find my two zeldas to maybe try again and not be fucking stuck this time but i had forgotten how like #small. the dsi is in my big fucking hands. i don't know how i used to do it #my hands have been smaller. obviously. but it hit my current height early #so i mustve had the same huge paws playing these games on my teeny weeny dsi..... i've gotten too used to ergonomy these days #can i Feel the CTS approaching just booting up the games so i could check the title.#ring ring (answers)#anonymous

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