*Smoulders*

Apologies comrade. *dies and falls down yamcha style and poops a little*

NONE but * u_u

*Rises as a Legacy of Kain style revenant an age later, when all but Principalities, immortals, and dead memories etched in dusty stone with forgotten languages can recall my name. Barfs up all the hammers. Gets pulled into some dickhead Old God's plot to stink up the afterlife.*

*Perfect parries every hammer by swallowing them.*

Lord's work. Salt of the earth.

Now whenever my body is touching the sea I pray. Kind of the only time I -formally- pray at all, though high mountains usually also warrant an orison or two. There's no point in saying this except to etch a treasured memory more deeply and to remind you that the sublime is yours to find.

hear hear

I want everyone who ever looks at them to recoil in disgust or horror so complete that they rarely even stick around to say what's on the forehead screen. I want to inscribe a living mark of Cain upon them and send them into the wilderness as close to immortal as possible.

tight KNIT. hate this language

many people have one or two groups of friends/colleagues, a tight knight group of friends and family, and a modest constellation of acquaintances. me? i'm a fat, slutty little bee covered in pollen from every flower that'd have me 😤

and resident cryptid. no idea where i developed the habit but it's so nice having a place i can always return to do my sasquatch walk through the back of photos. made up for being a thirty-year townie by becoming a social mothra