#ocean stuff

1: Big. So big. *slaps ocean* this baby can fit so much life.

2: You ever get homesick for no apparent reason? It’s the ocean, your OG home. She’s calling to you.

3: Ok so I love the ocean but I have this very specific fear that makes being on the ocean a little… difficult. I have no problem with the idea of being in the middle of the ocean with no boat, being on a paddle board, or diving in scuba gear, etc. I don’t even have a problem with being on a boat. As long as I’m never inside it anywhere. It’s the very specific fear of being trapped inside a sinking/sunk boat and yes, this includes submarines I hate them. (This follows the trend I have where I get irrationally fearful and dizzy when in a tall building but am fine on a cliffside. It’s man-made stuff.)

4:

Scent. The brief taste of curdled, rubbery meat on the currents.

You move with purpose now, a fathomless hunger coils in your guts. How long has it been since you last fed? Long? Longer? Longer than that you think.

If you had a jaw- something you've seen the other, larger, faster beings have- it would be clenched in anticipation. But you do not have a jaw, and so you writhe onwards, unerringly following the scent of a fallen behemoth.

Time is foreign to you, it's a construct of the sunlit world, a world to which you do-not-cannot belong. Instead you measure by scent, and the fleeting pheremones of you kin.

You've been tasting them more and more now, they're doubtlessly heading the same call that drew you in. And soon they will join you, and you will coil, and entwine. churning against eachother in an experience sideways of violence.

Hunger, you decide, is the main driver for your kind. At any other time, in any other place the twisting forms of your brothers, sisters, siblings, would signify scarcity and bitter competition.

But not here. Not now.

You inhale deeply, the taste-scent-touch of doughy, moldering flesh brushing against your mouth.

Not now. you think again, contorting yourself into knots and tearing free chunk after chunk of glorious putrifaction.

Also known as Sally Lightfoot Crabs but we don't care about that