And this here is what we in the writing industry call “a display of hubris that may or may not have karmic consequences but is very, very fun”.
[ID: a screenshot of white text on a black background reading “All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The sole exception for the ocean, the ocean is The Pacific Ocean from real life. If it is unhappy with its portrayal it can settle the matter personally.” /end ID]
The Pacific is the most fuckable ocean (tumblr et al, 2024). Let the author shoot their shot.
Look, sometimes god lifts you, its palm dry enough to be rock, to be the sun-leathered skin of those who never got to cross the big grey stone and as pink as their outside insides, and suddenly you’re taking the biggest leap yet and your legs aren’t even moving. Some part of you – not memory but the ghosts of many deaths worn into you through generations – understands danger, understands long, thin beaks and sharp claws, but this god has none. A fresher, fragile ghost whispers light, the long grey stone’s flash-noise reckoning that raptures and unmakes and doesn’t stop to notice.
This one stops. Its soft claws are dry as death but it doesn’t squeeze them shut, doesn’t communicate its wants as violence. You are floating softly into light and for once none of it kills you. Who am I, little creature, to deny you miracles.
the person asserting the make-a-wish child’s right to an aryan doordasher is a she-ra fandom blogger embroiled in callout drama who regularly posts thousand word essays invoking the threat of femicide as the reason taylor swift can’t come out as a lesbian. just for the epistemology of the concepts here.
i’m just so glad to be out on the water
This is one of those posts where you’re ‘just standing on the sidewalk, minding your own business and a primer grey ford pinto full of screaming clowns on fire drives past at high speed, the sound doppler shifting into the distance.
amhrancas 