Remembering That Time I Wrote A Bunch Of Cryptic Shorts 'bout Cannibalism.

Remembering that time I wrote a bunch of cryptic shorts 'bout cannibalism.

self-gatekeeping, where I'm like 'I haven't been into this long enough/haven't seen all of this/don't know the people behind this -what if it's actually problematic', so I refuse to wear merch, or show fanart

lookatthespeedofthoseclouds it's the perfect writing weather & I can't even

I wanna contribute to fandom/s, but I don't wanna be involved with fandom/s, do you see my problem?

She seemed intoxicated, only rather by exhaustion, than by whatever laced the cigarettes she'd rolled up that morning. One was just about to go out between her fingers. I took it from her, inhaled it back to life before tossing it onto the ground. It was weed, at least a third of it, tho the filters she used mellowed the taste.  She looked at the bud somewhat saddened. 'Seventeen', she said, drawing a little x in the air with her finger. That was way too many, but she'd been cutting back admirably for weeks, and today was a rough day.  I sighed. I swear, I thought, as who knows how many times before, if one more beloved soul leaves this wretched earth before mine, I'll cease.  I looked at her then. Knowing I could never intentionally leave her behind, I sighed again, took a seat & lit me one of hers. Enough time to be responsible tomorrow..