miss my wife like a motherfucker

somethin’s in the air.

he’s hardly paid them any mind. they’ve been gathering all day. he figures there’s something shiny in his shack somewhere that caught their eye.

polishing his shotgun. yawn.

. . . i could uh, come down, i guess. i’d appreciate it.

effectively has not left his cabin in weeks — he looks like shit, and feels worse.

oh. maybe, then. i dunno. haven’t seen a doctor.

lungs, unfortunately.

hacking.

he is quite literally going to retreat to his shack and cry to his dog after this.

yer very funny, mister.

do i look like someone with an alive wife? but i guess? i hardly go down there, why would i know? don’t even think i count as part of that settlement.

. . . that’s my fuckin’ dog, dipshit. her name’s pockets. she’s a good dog. you’d be surprised, though. those folks are messy. you just ( look like it, * ) fuck if i know.

figures. yeah, that’s what i said too, few months ago. now i’ve got this shack. the little lady liked it here, so i stayed. you look like a bounty hunter.

oh. yer one of those bounty hunter types, huh? i stay in the mountains for a reason. i don’t intend on botherin’ most of you folks. dunno how i’m lookin’ at ya, mister.

[ he’s kind of just staring. blank. for a moment, his eyes give the illusion of vague disappointment. ]

. . . you got an issue with my hobbies?

y’don’t like my company?

oh, y’know.

aw, you want peace ‘n quiet?

well, my ma’s been dead for a while. y’want me to put the gun down, then?

. . . now how old are you?

don’t call me that. makes me feel old.

damn. was lookin’ for an excuse.

. . . y’want me to shoot?

you folks are too close to my property. i have a gun.

/ laziest graphic of my life tee bee h

in liking this tweet, i will write a 2-3 post starter to get an interaction started.

walking his dog. his gaze is kept focused on her. he figured it would be safest to walk her in the settlement, and he is regretting it.

oh. huh. i should go home.

maybe venturing out isn’t ( so * ) bad.

staring down the barrel of his shotgun, tired eyes fixed on @lumokinesis.bsky.social. it’s not often he’s met with with visitors out in the mountains. to be fair, this is to be expected. he ( is * ) close to a settlement, after all. “hey!” he barks. “the fuck are you doin’ out here?” the gun is +

it’s late enough to slip out of his house — into town he goes, cigarette between his lips. this feels foreign, and he doesn’t much like it.

― It can happen again. It will keep happening. If war doesn't change, men must change, and so must their 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐒. [ temporary pin ]

/ ilya is, technically, far harbor centered but i put him wherever i want :)

cleaning his shotgun. yawn.

⠀ ⠀⠀ AM I MAKING YOU ⠀ ⠀⠀ FEEL SICK ——— ?