What Is It About Teenage Girls With A Blog Literally Dedicated To One Singular Man Who They Gush About

it’s horrific. awful way to die. either you’re trapped with no chance of being found, air running out, everyone around you suffocating, or the hull is broken and you get turned to jelly by the crushing ocean depths. ik they’re billionaires so it’s very contentious for me. generally i prefer no one dies horrifically. like just as a fellow human being on earth. but i dont think the ultra rich ever extend that mindset to others. climate refugees. and just everything. it feels like something a greek god would do to punish them. it has a certain swagful je ne sais quoi if removed from the human suffering which billionaires have to do philosophically to maintain their positions. very haunting. the hubris of it all. old jalopy metal tube steered by a mad catz controller. to go look at the titanic. which is nothing but a rusted out metal wreck full of fish and silt. btw. the grandiosity of it is completely unrecognizable. one has to wonder what compels ppl to even look at it in the first place. like the prestige of seeing some filthy grown over shell? crazy thing to die for. very textually rich… bad way to die as a human being. great way to die as a narrative about human greed and folly i guess. good job. mission accomplished?

y'all know davy jones who can only step on land once every decade?

right, make that Simon, but he's something else.

He shows up hours before someone's passing. An inky nondescript shadow that blends into the background, unnoticed by most. But to those whose final specks of sand trickle through their hourglass?

They see him.

An entity condemned to a lifetime of servitude. A wretched, pitiful existence. Something that saps the life out of everything it touches. Something that can't feel the warm rays of the sun seep into his skin, can't smell petrichor in the dewy morning, when the world begins to wake.

He lives yet he doesn't. An eternity of suffering, of wishing he never begged for a way out of the braided strands of hemp that had tightened around his neck for his crimes so long ago.

His freedom forfeit the moment he pleaded for it.

With a lantern that glows an eerie green, he leads deceased souls to their final destination, even the ones who resist, who cling futilely to life, to what is no longer theirs.

Some might call him death, others Hermes. The only name he's ever cared for is his own, the one that his mother had given him back when men still sailed the seas in search of treasure, when men and women alike were hung at the gallows.

But now he is a nameless servant of the natural order that guides them all.

However, he was also given a boon. One single day, out of every ten years, the tight collar around his neck comes off, and he turns human.

A man of flesh and blood.

His lungs fill with the crisp, biting air that he never feels. Cheeks sting from the cold. Fingertips numb without gloves.

For one blessed night, the heart in his chest beats. For one blessed night, his body is warm, flush with life.

And it's been this way for as long as he can remember. He would roam the docks of back then, the briny air stinging his nose, the dulled thumping of hooves resounding in his ears. The chants of drunken men coming from inside lit taverns.

He roamed when cars began to be a form of transportation, when children, boys, began marching to war.

He had been so busy, then.

And he roams now, in the modern age, where medicine forestalls the inescapable.

But then, you. Blood rushes to his face the moment he lays eyes on you. His throat dries, turns to the paper that's used to strip paint.

He's never seen something so beautiful. So plump with vitality, life coursing through your veins. A sweet little thing, whose dulcet voice makes his knees weak.

And when you shake hands with him, palm engulfed in his much larger one, as you ask him for his name, his tongue feels as if it's coated with tar, swollen and heavy. But he garbles out his response anyway.

"Simon."

The way you breathe it back, like a sigh from a lover, could still his heart.

Everything else is a blur, his eyes only ever focused on you when he ends up in your arms, in between your spread thighs, inviting him where no creature such as he belongs.

But he's always yearned for what was never his, and so with fervor, he takes. Grabs at soft skin, and whimpers at the fact that you're not dead with his touch. Surrenders himself to you, completely; makes the little dove under him sing until the short arm on the clock gets close to 12.

This is where he departs, with a promise he swears to never break, and wrenches his heart out of his own chest, placing it in your gentle hands.

He swears to come back for it, once every ten years.

Whenever Simon turns back to whatever he's cursed with being, he keeps a keen eye on you. And then the one time he passes by, feeling like nothing but an artic breeze to you, he sees your life is close to an end.

Simon, for once in his pathetic existence, saves a human life. The car that crashes into you at a lethal speed, does nothing but total your vehicle. It is considered an absolute miracle to everyone, except you.

That should've been your demise. That should've been it.

His little dove, too smart for her own good.

The time will soon come again, and when his head rests on your chest, listening to the lulling sounds of your heart beating, will he tell you what he is.

(maybe, or not idk)

"It's a heady tonic. Holding life and death in the palm of your own hand."

it's like they gave bambi a gun

27 year age gap is practically nothing!

sometimes i forget i'm trying to be a mysterious hot girl and reveal my true nature - a ditzy fangirl with no idea what is happening :(

my allure isn't as great when i'm coloring in a kids coloring book while i force you to watch the new surprise the triplets posted

Thinking abt this again

i just hate pants :(

“Are you decent?” Morally? Absolutely not. Decent like do I have pants on? Also no

being a girl with mommy issues is so weird because like. you give me so much and i am so grateful. i die a little every time someone compares me to you. i want to make you proud. i need to leave this house before i go insane. i'm so lucky to be close with my mum. i break down whenever someone says i'm proud of you.

Panties are overrated