Elk (they/them). Writer of fiction and poetry in range of genre and style, but always seeking to capture the beauty in darkness. elkambrosescott.carrd.co
Hi there, and glad tidings. My name is Elk Ambrose Scott. I’m a speculative fiction writer, poet and full-time creature of the night. By that I mean, of course, that I willingly chose the night shift and the vampirism allegations are completely false. Welcome to my primary Tumblr home, where I post thoughts on writing, tiny pieces of beautiful darkness, and occasionally Berserk shitposts.
My work is primarily focused on dark, macabre themes but not without moments of hope and lightness. The wound is the place where the light enters, after all, according to the poet Rumi. I approach my writing from my lens as a queer and disabled person, and I also had to promise that I’d include references to blood or death in everything when I signed my paperwork to be alt.
𝔽𝕦𝕟 𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕤
I’ve been on Tumblr since around 2013 in various ways. I have seen a lot in my time here, but I keep coming back like comfort watching the same video of a puppy running into a mirror. I am the puppy. Tumblr is the mirror.
I have to be careful about research so I don’t fall into a rabbit hole. Shout out to my friend [REDACTED] who helps me with anything tech related, and to my husband for being my living action figure and standing in ridiculous poses or dragging me across the floor by my leg to get the nuance of a scene juuust right.
I have been publishing work long enough that some of it is out of print. This is unfortunate, as some of the only copies exist on the hard drive of the other contributors and in the annals of my file systems. One day I’ll share some of it here, with commentary!
i have friends who don't engage with sci fi as a genre and one tells me it's because she doesn't like how sciencey it is. guys when has anyone (other than andy weir my beloved) ever written sci fi where the science actually makes sense and is focused on. please. come ON. it's just human stories like all stories. they're just in space this time. this is fundamentally no different from fantasy or any other "this is in a different universe" type fiction. please. please.
"I never claimed to be a "good" Person. You knew it the second you recruited me to your Party that I wasn't a good Person. I was very upfront about it. But Rhyelia WAS! She was as good as they come. Why are you mad that I tortured and killed her murderer? You loved her the same way I loved her"
”How could you possibly love her the same as I when you are so adamant about disrespecting her final wishes!” Sizan screamed.
”I avenged her. You let her memory rot” It hissed, a forked tongue escaping its lips. Sizan stepped back, it stung, even after all these years. He still saw it as a monster.
It's current visage didn't help with that belief, bloodstain claws that connected to long lanky limbs the color of violets.
"I did love her. I wanted to be the Person she believed I could be. I really really wanted to."
Sizan's anger didn't subside, instead it grew. How dare it act like this pathetic attempt could even be worthy of the faith Rhyelia had in it. The faith they all had. The party would have died if it hadn't been for Rhyelia's sacrifice. Now it was staining that memory with more blood. Rhyelia wanted peace, it was all she had ever wanted and now this monster was ripping that dream from her dead hands.
Sizan couldn't stand by and let it happen. He understood people dealt with grief in different ways. People, being the key word. It was a beast made of war and tears. It wasn't like the rest of them, the blood in its veins wasn't its own, it was stolen from thousands. Its soul was a web of death that infected everything around it.
"You will never be a person. You were and always will be a monster." He shouted. "I wish we'd never saved you from that grave."
That struck like a dagger through the heart. It knew Sizan was the last to trust it but it truly thought that it had been doing the right thing by killing the man who slaughtered Rhyelia. So many wrong assumptions. So much trust lost. It wasn't proud of what it said next, those words came from a place of instinct, to hurt what made you hurt.
"And what about you. Do you really believe I can't smell the bloodthirsty instincts that emit from you. I know your past, I know the way your eyes shine when you plunge a sword through your enemies. You and me are the same. Monsters." For once it didn't shrink back. It had been years since it stood its full height, since it had the need to intimidate. Sizan met its stance with his own battle ready figure.
"Rhyelia made a mistake trusting us. She made a mistake loving us but at the very least I chose to respect the path she asked us to take. You just went back to the senseless slaughter. That's what makes us different."
"Fine, if you think we're so different then tell the rest of the Party. Tell them where you come from. What you did before you met them. I'm sure they'll treat us so differently."
"GODS JUST SHUT UP!" A fist flew forward and shattered the reflective glass.
"Sizan?" Iris rushed into the room. Her eyes filled with concern as she saw the broken shards of glass. "What happened?"
"Nothing... I just." He cut himself off. Nothing he could say would explain. "I miss her."
Iris softened, she walked over, carefully avoiding the glass. "We all do Si, but she would have wanted us to keep going." She paused before adding the last part. "And I don't know if this will make you feel better but you deserve to know. Something killed him, they found his body in shreds in a cave close to where she died. Nobody knows what did it but I like to think it was the universe avenging her."
"Mhm." Sizan didn't meet her eyes. Instead his gaze fell to the closet shard of glass near his feet, a pair of snake-like eyes stared back.
He shook his head, his skin hadn't been violet in years.
But the blood stains hidden under his gloves were fresh.
minos was such a pussy. if my wife gave birth to an epic minotaur baby i wouldn't have locked him in a labyrinth. i would have taken him to the mcdonalds play place (athens) every day and let him eat as many stray mcnuggets (athenians) off the floor as he wanted. i love you hungry son
Wrote and designed this a whiiiiile back. It was sitting in my folder, gathering digital dust, and I think it still looks good, even if it doesn't fit my aesthetic now.
Fits the style still, since I'm somehow still writing about this monster when I'd rather be writing about The Creature (Frankenstein's or from the Black Lagoon, take your pick) or Gojira or a cool monster, not just a shambling corpse with putrid hands.
This poem is about me. God, I hope this poem isn't about you.
I Tested Five Ways to Shuck Corn, and Police Stepped Up Security in Atlanta as a 66-foot asteroid exploded in Russia. The Evidence is Still Catching up, But, Who's Voting? We all Cheered as we die together. If we die, Disney's Live-Action Remake Dies at the Box Office. If we die, According to Gardening Pros, it could change the search for life. I Tried Thirteen Brands of Canned Biscuits- and If a star explodes close to Earth, this is what happens.
If you haven’t heard of selective empathy before, I think you’ll have a far better understanding of it after you finish reading. Even if you
I am TERRIFIED to post this, and might delete it if the anxiety becomes too much, but I wrote a piece on something that had been eating at me. My best friend [REDACTED] and I watched all of The Amazing Digital Circus together and I was sitting and watching video essays on the topic and this just...came to me. Don't flame me (showing my age there a bit haha) before you read it. Just...give it a chance. I am not on Jax's side, I am not on the hater's side, I am on no one's side but the side of exploration. This is: The Amazing Digital Circus, Jax, and Selective Empathy.
More on where this post came from under the cut.
I've been researching the concept of selective empathy for personal growth reasons after watching The Dollhouse's excellent video essay (not in the Eat Pray Love personal growth way, but in the hey, I have thinking patterns that are kind of shitty way) and as I was definitely not watching video essays at work I was watching a few on TADC, because as I said, my best friend and I watched all of it and I was curious about what other fans thought. It's tempting to say that this was a huge mistake, but it's really not. As a fan of a show, I feel like I should see the criticisms as well as the praise to have a full view of the show. Thus...this. I hope you enjoy it, dear reader, and learn about a psychology concept that isn't really talked about enough.
An introduction for an ongoing series on monsters from a biosociopyscho lens.
Here. We. Go.
First episode of my first Substack series, Make Mine Monster. This episode deals with the definition and sociology of monstrosity, and gives you a preview of what's to come in future episodes (including next month's episode, which I think that the Tumblr community is going to LOVE). If you have the time to spare, please give this piece a read--it's completely free!
Onscreen: Incest. Specifically, Persephone is married to her uncle.
Offscreen: Implications of incest between brothers (Hades and Zeus). There is also heavily implied child abuse between Zeus and Persephone.
You returned home picking petals from between your teeth, clothes sticky with pollen and skin kissed by the sun’s last caress against it. You realized immediately that something was wrong. The faint smell of burnt dust was ever present, every crack in the stone walls staying but never growing worse. What was different, as you walked through the...palace wasn’t really the word for it, your husband never wanting anything so grand as that, but as you walked through the place he’d carved into the brimstone and fashioned into a home you tripped over furniture, cast onto its side and scattered. You'd stopped trying to understand him at that point, focusing on dancing around his moods like swirling through a ballroom filled with pottery shards, and that had become literal as you called out for him and walked across a floor covered in pieces of stone furniture, shattered dishes, and bits of torn fabric. "I'm home!" You yelled, voice not quite raspy yet, still wet from dew and rain. “Hades? Where are you?”
He remained silent, frustrating you. You couldn’t even track him by his breathing—while you’d learned to fake it well, he spent so little time with the living that he forgot that they had to draw breath to live. You followed the scent you’d come to associate with him, letting the part of your mind shaped in Arcadia take over. You smelled the brimstone, the burnt dust, but sadness too. It was potent, salty and almost bitter. You moved towards it regardless.
Your husband sat on his throne. He so hated the thing, only bothering to use it when your f̷̛̻̲̣̾ã̵̰͍͇t̵̜͌̊́h̶͕̗̱͛͝͝ë̴͚̖́́͘ṟ̷͇͉̈͝͠ was coming. Your heart beat quickened. He looked up, eyes baggy as ever, and smiled a bit. You smiled back. This part was easy. When he was happy, you wanted to keep him that way. You had little control over most things here, but this you felt some measure of agency in. The throne was plain, as he was, adorned with nothing but carvings. Your own was smaller than his, by your request. It felt strange to sit so tall and loom over the dead as he did. You, by virtue of who you were born as, would always carry life in you. You tilted his head up and kissed him. His mouth was cold. It always was. His beard scratched against your chin. Your skin was soft from actual water and pure air, and it started to irritate you quickly. You pulled back as you felt your cheeks grow wet. His scent changed too, which was even worse. You looked into his eyes, rimmed with red. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you not hear?” His voice turned harsh. Your heart beat quickened. You could feel your pulse start to build in your neck, feel the pound in your ears like something banging on your ear drum from the inside out. It is then that you notice the ash on his face. “How did you miss it, Seph? You were in the world of the living, surely you noticed that everything was falling apart!”
You suppressed a growl. The wolf in you, ever present, took offence. “I turned on my last week there,” you explained. You knew that the scent of the world around you changed, becoming more sour than usual, more of a stench than a fragrance. Mother had walked you to the gate to the underworld herself, eyeing you warily as you walked through the drying plains together, hiding the hand you’d scarred years ago in her robe. She’d waited with you until you turned back, clothed you in her own robes, kissed your forehead and told you to say hello to her brother. She’d cried, and it had hurt like stepping on thorns, but she did that every time you had to go back. “I remember scents, flashes. I miss much in my lunar form.” He should have known that. It was not your fault he didn’t.
“Oh,” he murmured. “Yes.” He took your hand, squeezing it. “Forgive me.”
That too had your hackles up, your senses attuned to his every twitch, every eye movement, every hitch of breath. You could count on one hand how many times you’d seen your husband cry. You could count with one finger the times he’d asked for forgiveness. Both in one day was deeply concerning. “Hades. What. Is. Wrong.”
Hades reached up, playing with one of your jewelled braids. “Demeter is improving her braiding, eh? She used to be so clumsy. Even Hess lost patience with her. But Z̵̯͔̖͍̦̹̀ȩ̵̪̘͍͖̫͈̒̌̇̓̇̚͝ͅͅư̵̢̫͌͊͠ṥ̴̛͕̚̕͠?” You felt ill. “No, his hands were careful and gentle when he wanted them to be. He liked my hair short and cut it himself. Said it suited me. Oh, the blade was against my skin and I felt no fear. Demi...yes, my Demi. When was the last I saw her face in anything but reflected in yours?”
Positivity about mother? Even more rare. You felt like someone splashed water on your face, and you had the intimately familiar sensation of someone squeezing your throat, even if no hand was there. You looked into his eyes, clouded brown staring back at you, searching. “Hades. Please.”
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said quietly. “I feared you’d be taken too.”
You worried your teeth between your lips, waiting for him to speak. He was not listening. This wasn’t new. You’d lost track of how many conversations ended like this, with him rambling and not acknowledging that you’d spoken at all. He’d grow angry that you didn’t respond, and you did not think you could stomach it today. Fresh tears were rolling down his face, like waterfalls, like rain, nourishing not but his own wounds. “Your ̷̻̞͉̰̀̿̆f̴̞͎̪̪͍̖̞͘ͅà̵̧̡̜͍̰̟̗̝̭̭͗̈́͋̂̅͘͠͝t̷͎̞̖͉̝͇̱͔̃̿̃̿̒̀̐͘h̶̛̗̱̘̠̦͑̓̍̀̕͘͘͠ȩ̴̞̹͈̭͎͍̿̾̋͒ṛ̷͙̋͌̈͠ is dead. My brother,” his voice cracked, “is dead.” Hades finally said, after long moments of silence, only punctuated by the low wails always emanating from the pits below. He let out a cry that echoed across the walls of the cavern, and all you could shamefully think, face to face with his pain, was good.
“He can’t be gone. I can’t accept it.” Hades stood, and you with him. He wiped his tears on his sleeve, long and ratty. He took your cheeks in his cold hands, looking into your eyes. “I know you’ve made sacrifices, Seph. I need you to make another. Is that alright?”
Your jaw ached from the last time you’d said it wasn’t. Granted, it was years ago, and it had healed. But it healed the way everything did in the Underworld. Slowly, and with constant lingering pain long after the wound had closed. “Why?”
“I will descend into the depths to find ̴͈̻͙̟͎͓̓̉́Ẓ̵̡̛̻̪̥̾̕͜ę̵̫̜̹̺̘͓̱́̈́͠u̸̯͇̰̓s̷͙͔͙͎̉͊̌̂͗̐̐͝ͅ'̸̥̠̦̬̯̀̇̏͝ͅs̴̡̡̞̟̜͕̫͖͎͇̽͌̈́͗͑͊͌̀ spirit.”
You knew how deep he’d need to go. Who else Hades might find waiting for him. “Are you sure? Your fath—”
“He is only that in name,” Hades interjected, eyes flashing. You resisted the curling of your lip. Hypocrite. “I am aware he could be released. But I have to try. I know he isn’t your favourite person, but...the world needs him.” I need him was left unsaid but not unheard. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about it for...it doesn’t matter. It falls to me to fix this madness before it gets worse. Yes. Z̸̩̫̦̿̀̿͊̈́́̆ë̷̮͚̬͎̮́̓́ͅu̶̢͕̗̪̲̜͑s̴̨̧̖̯͍̟̻͝ͅ needs his big brother, and I need you to guard the gates.”
Anger surged hot through you. You stepped out of his grip, knocking his hands away when he tried to reach for you again. “You promised me that I wouldn’t have to do that. You vowed to me when I agreed to stay that I would live here as a woman, not as your Cerberus!”
“It won’t be for long, my love. I’ll find him, and I’ll return. It will all be alright once again, once he’s back. But the current guardian will not live forever, and I sense that many souls will find their ways here if my brother is gone, thinking all is fair game without him. It’s not fair to Malivina to do all that work in her twilight years.”
You thought of how Malvi came to you, small for her age, but already boasting six kills—three boars, two ibex and a lion. She’d smiled at you, revealing missing teeth and scars on the top and bottom of her lips where her canines pierced through. Her nails were long, her dark hair wild, and she was happy that she’d be allowed to stay in her lunar form forevermore. Now, her muzzle was starting to grey, as were the hairs on her barrel chest and between her paws. She had clouds in her eyes and her teeth were beginning to brown. She still guarded the gates with a fierce vitality you’d never had, but the last incursion had left a nasty scar on her long muzzle. You could understand her grunts and groans and growling. She resented the idea of being retired. She’d die on her feet fighting, or she’d live forever. “I understand.” It was not agreeing, nor was it disagreeing. It was the truth.
“I love you,” he said. That you were used to hearing. That, you knew, was the truth. You smiled at him, tears gathering in your eyes. “I’ll leave tomorrow, so we can spend our night together. I made you a tart. It turned out better this time, I think.”
“Did it?” You teased. “Did you bake the shell all the way this time?”
“Yes!”
“Did the milk curdle before you could add the honey?”
“Of course not!” He grinned, pouting a bit for show.
“Did you wash the fruit this time, so it didn’t go in dusty and dye the dough brown?”
“Yes!” He stuck his chin out, puffing out his chest. “If you’re going to be like that, I’ll eat it all myself.”
“Sugar doesn’t agree with you.”
“No,” he agreed. He held out his hand. You flash briefly to being a youth again, seeing your uncle loom over you, expecting a fist but receiving an open palm. “I get some joy out of it, but I enjoy seeing you eat it more. And after...I’ll bring you so much joy that it lasts until I get back.”
You nodded, smiling. Your head was swimming, even as you took your husband’s hand and left for your small private chambers in the castle of the dead.
#
The first test came a week later with the first incursion. The mad woman was hard to fight, if only because you were conflicted about hurting her. You saw Hades’ face reflected in her, the morning he left, the madness of grief and betrayal etched into her face as if stone. Malivinia had worn her down, flesh between her teeth, and prepared to deliver the final killing bite, but you’d stayed her jaw. All Agave wanted was her son. With the gods in turmoil, she’d made the journey to the Underworld with a sword sticking out of her belly, convinced that her half-death would allow her passage. She’d wrapped her arms around your legs and looked up at you, begging. I just want my boy back, she’d cried. Please. I just want to hold him again. This was not his fault. It was mine, for my weakness. If only for a moment, gentle Persephone.
Had Orpheus not moved the gods with song? Had Heracles not fought his way here through pain? Was it because this was a woman born that she should be denied what they had sought with equal sorrow? You were moved, but you knew that Hades kept careful track of how many souls they cared for. What he didn’t track was who was here, and who was not. You made a deal with Agave. It could have been manipulation, but to be called ‘gentle Persephone’...You were that once, weren’t you? Before this. The deal was to bring you a soul to replace her son’s and bring you news of your mother, and she would get her wish. Malivinia was quiet as Agave left, sure that the woman’s injuries would finish her before she could honour her bargain. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you’d told the Arcadian.
The next day she’d brought you Cydippe, casting Hera’s faithful servant at your feet before slitting her throat. The servant’s blood turned thick and tarry on contact with the brimstone, but a deal was a deal. You sent Malivinia to get Pentheus, fearing the entire time that the youth’s spirit would flee his mother. You’d heard how he’d died, after all. Your cousin Dioyn bragged of it often. But when the boy saw his mother, he ran into her arms. She’d offered a smile and a promise to honour you in all ways forever. As she’d left, you took her arm, looking into her eyes, and asked about your mother. Demeter hid with the Arcadians. The wolf-father protected her. You allowed Agave to go, unsure of the truth of the statement, but accepting it. A gentle lie, if it was one. One like you were used to.
Hades had been gone for a week, and the dead were beginning to grow restless. Like him, they barely listened to you. Still. You would lick your wounds, you would tend to Malvi, and await the next battle. It was something to cling to, even as more dead arrived daily, even as you could hear wailing from above and below.
