me, a 16th century swordsman, with a new clay-tempered sword: *loudly but casually unsheathes it*
my friend, clearly peanut butter and jealous: oh. thats nice. is that c-
me: clay-tempered? yeah. it is.
Tag: me
“Beware the autumn people.
For some, autumn comes early, stays late, through life, where October follows September and November touches October and then instead of December and Christ’s birth there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again and old October and so on down the years, with no winter, spring or revivifying summer.
For these beings, fall is the only normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond.
Where do they come from? The dust.
Where do they go? The grave.
Does blood stir their veins? No, the night wind.
What ticks in their head? The worm.
What speaks through their mouth? The toad.
What sees from their eye? The snake.
What hears with their ear? The abyss between the stars.
They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. They frenzy forth. In gusts they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, and surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles—breaks.
Such are the autumn people.”— Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962)e (via amber-and-ice)
catch me in the abandoned apple orchard at midnight wearing a cowl and gesturing wildly with an oak branch as i advocate lesbian feminism to the fae
thinking about the time back when i thought i was cishet in 8th grade and my boyfriend at the time asked me if i liked girls and i answered “i appreciate the female form”
youre not allowed to die bc youre a lesbian
dykes dont die
social lvl: cryptid
- emerges from the void & talks to friends after weeks of no interaction. afterwards no one is sure whether or not it actually happened
- rarely spotted outside
- photographs always low res and blurry
- ???
- hangs out w/ mothman and bigfoot


