Self-Appointed Mess @inkwell-attitude - Tumblr Blog

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 1 at the communal puzzle club: i see a puzzle with a sign next to it that says "please help with our communal puzzle" and i say to myself "don't mind if I do" and did the whole thing

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 2 at the communal puzzle club: i get gently reprimanded for not sharing the puzzle experience with the others. in my defense I thought they needed all the help they could get

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 3 at the communal puzzle club: we start a new puzzle and i put one of the pieces in my pocket and save it for later so i can be the one who puts in the last piece

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 4 at the communal puzzle club: the puzzle is almost complete so i reach into my pocket and realize i left the last piece in my other pants which are currently in the washing machine. i feign ignorance

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 5 at the communal puzzle club: the others are suspicious but they have no proof. they check my pockets before i leave but little do they know that this time i ate the pieces

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 6 at the communal puzzle club: i put an entire bottle of miralax in my coffee to get the pieces out of my digestive system but they are too far dissolved to be usable. my stomach is in so much pain and i can't stop shitting but i rinse off what's left of the pieces and make it to puzzle club anyway, only to find out they don't meet on mondays. i am inconsolable.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 7 at the communal puzzle club: i realized those pieces are incriminating evidence so i slipped them in someone else's pocket. i should be good as long as they don't find residual traces of my dna

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 8 at the communal puzzle club: there is an odd feeling in my gut. i feel as if something has been awoken in me

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day 9 at the communal puzzle club: i am in such deep focus that the others are starting to fear me. either that or they are cowering away from the communal puzzle out of sheer respect for my skills

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 10 at the communal puzzle club: i'm getting better and better, i can now do several puzzles in one day. the others are discussing what to do about me in hushed tones. little do they know my laser focus allows me to hear everything they say. they aren't a threat.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 11 at the communal puzzle club: the club manager unlocked the door but already i am inside. ive been here all night doing puzzles in the dark. they threaten to ban me from the club so in response i pick a 500 piece puzzle at random and complete it in under 45 minutes, just to show them who the real authority is

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 12 at the communal puzzle club: i have been officially banned from the communal puzzle club. in a fit of rage i grab as many pieces as i can and eat them, making sure to thoroughly chew and swallow every single one. if i can't do them, no one can.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 13 at the communal puzzle club: it's monday again. the club doesn't meet today. it's the perfect opportunity to break in and do as many puzzles as my heart desires, without any of the club's petty drama to distract me

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 14 at the communal puzzle club: i am in jail because the club manager snitched to the cops like the pathetic weakling they are. this is the worst night of my entire life there aren't any puzzles here

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 15 at the communal puzzle club: the judge let me off with a restraining order since I didn't actually steal anything. i show back up to communal puzzle club just to make a show of ripping the order to shreds. no piece of paper will dictate my life, only jigsaw-cut cardboard has that power. nothing else.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 16 at the communal puzzle club: everyone is so quiet today when I walk in. I eat some pieces in a show of force, just to remind everyone who's in charge. I comment that they taste somewhat like strychnine, they say it's just because Ravensburger has a new method of chemically processing their pieces. sounds plausible. 30 minutes later i am convulsing violently but i beg them not to call an ambulance until i finish the puzzle i was working on. but the bastards don't listen and I'm shipped off to the hospital kicking and screaming.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 17 at the communal puzzle club: i spent the night in the hospital. a detective comes in and says they're investigating the manager of the communal puzzle club for attempted murder and asks what i know. i tell him honestly that i ain't no snitch and spit in his face. he says they have more than enough evidence to prosecute regardless.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 18 at the communal puzzle club: the club manager is on trial for attempted murder and i am called as a witness. i tell the judge that i ain't no snitch and spit in his face. i am held in contempt of the court

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 19 at the communal puzzle club: the defense makes a plea of justifiable self defense, citing the restraining order that isn't even 1 week old. somehow the judge buys that flimsy defense. i mean, this is the same judge who didn't even recognize me from that same case despite being the same judge. i think the poor old man has dementia so i make a motion for a mistrial. it gets shot down because the system is corrupt.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 20 at the communal puzzle club: the judge says i should get jail time but he decided i should be in a mental facility instead. i don't know why he would think that, i have been nothing but sane my entire life. god forbid a woman have hobbies

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 1 in the psych ward: they have puzzles in here this is amazing

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day 2 in the psych ward: all the puzzles are missing a few pieces. this is unacceptable. im going to go insane

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day 3 in the psych ward: i have been informed that they do not use the word "insane" in here so i take back my previous statement.

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day 4 in the psych ward: i need to find those missing pieces i need to find them i need to find them i have been questioning everybody all the nurses all the doctors all the patients all the miscellaneous hospital staff but nobody knows anything. this is hopeless. i will never be able to overcome this trauma. my life is over

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 5 in the psych ward: it's so boring in here. without complete puzzles there's nothing to do except watch tv but the only channel they get is the local news. i begrudgingly watch out of nothing but all-encompassing ennui. but one of the stories is about the communal puzzle club and suddenly i am overcome with nostalgia. turns out there was a series of alleged poisonings attributed to that location. strychnine was found in three people so far, one of whom was myself. but the others didn't survive. this confirms my suspicion that i am in fact the chosen one

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 6 in the psych ward: with a renewed sense of purpose i will attempt to convince the doctors of my "sanity," but i also came to the realization that they don't care about sanity, they only care about sedation. they want to supress my passion, eradicate my truth, condition me to fall in line with the rest of the "sane" people. with that knowledge, i was able to tell them everything they wanted to hear. i acted polite, pretended i was cured, i even feigned complete disinterest in puzzles! it made my stomach boil but i did it, i convinced them, and just like that, i was free.

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 28 at the communal puzzle club: i don't know why everyone was so surprised to see me again, it's only natural that i'd come to finish what i started

(i know this is supposed to be day 27 at the communal puzzle club but day 27 was a monday so nothing happened) like what am i gonna say, "day 27 i sat alone in my studio apartment eating cereal and biding my time"

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

day 29 at the communal puzzle club: the communal puzzle club has been disbanded, the club manager has been arrested, and the whole place is swarming with cops. i watched as they hauled off a bunch of expensive looking printers and like a billion reams of paper and loaded them onto a big police truck.

apparently, the communal puzzle club was just a front for document forgery and counterfeit cash, and i had been inadvertently sabotaging them this entire time. which is sad because i support both of those things. but it also explains why they met 12 hours a day, 6 days a week and why they had their own building despite having no profit model and also why i was the only one who seemed to actually care about the puzzles. everyone else was too busy making fake passports to care.

in hindsight, i always knew they were all a bunch of casuals. but i didn't mind because they had so many excellent puzzles. I asked one of the officers if i could at least have the puzzles but he said they were already taken and locked away in the evidence room. the thought sickens me- all those puzzles, gathering dust, never to be assembled again. or maybe the pigs just took them for themselves! so they could have all the puzzles they want while the rest of us ordinary, law-abiding citizens have nothing to do except die of boredom!

the moral of the story is that we can never have nice things because of the fucking pigs. fuck the police.

dat-physics-gal

the fuck did i just read?

yuribomber-deactivated20251222

my local library was having a puzzle swap and there was a puzzle with a sign next to it that said "please help with our communal puzzle" and i thought "wouldn't it be funny if i did the entire thing by myself" and then i did the entire thing by myself while rolling that thought around in my brain and as it rolled it started picking up all the various mold spores and fungus i keep up there. like a katamari

sadoeuphemist

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Climb aboard, then!” But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown. “Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”

“I can’t help it,” said the scorpion. “It’s my nature.”

___

…But no sooner than they were halfway across the river, the frog felt a subtle motion on its back, and in a panic dived deep beneath the rushing waters, leaving the scorpion to drown.

“It was going to sting me anyway,” muttered the frog, emerging on the other side of the river. “It was inevitable. You all knew it. Everyone knows what those scorpions are like. It was self-defense.”

___

…But no sooner had they cast off from the bank, the frog felt the tip of a stinger pressed lightly against the back of its neck. “What do you think you’re doing?” said the frog.

“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

They swam in silence to the other end of the river, where the scorpion climbed off, leaving the frog fuming.

“After the kindness I showed you!” said the frog. “And you threatened to kill me in return?”

“Kindness?” said the scorpion. “To only invite me on your back after you knew I was defenseless, unable to use my tail without killing myself? My dear frog, I only treated you as I was treated. Your kindness was as poisoned as a scorpion’s sting.”

___

…“Just a precaution,” said the scorpion. “I cannot sting you without drowning. And now, you cannot drown me without being stung. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

“You have a point,” the frog acknowledged. “But once we get to dry land, couldn’t you sting me then without repercussion?”

“All I want is to cross the river safely,” said the scorpion. “Once I’m on the other side I would gladly let you be.”

“But I would have to trust you on that,” said the frog. “While you’re pressing a stinger to my neck. By ferrying you to land I’d be be giving up the one deterrent I hold over you.”

“But by the same logic, I can’t possibly withdraw my stinger while we’re still over water,” the scorpion protested.

The frog paused in the middle of the river, treading water. “So, I suppose we’re at an impasse.”

The river rushed around them. The scorpion’s stinger twitched against the frog’s unbroken skin. “I suppose so,” the scorpion said.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Absolutely not!” said the frog, and dived beneath the waters, and so none of them learned anything.

___

A scorpion, being unable to swim, asked a turtle (as in the original Persian version of the fable) to carry it across the river. The turtle readily agreed, and allowed the scorpion aboard its shell. Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell. The turtle, swimming placidly, failed to notice.

They reached the other side of the river, and parted ways as friends.

___

…Halfway across, the scorpion gave in to its nature and stung, but failed to penetrate the turtle’s thick shell.

The turtle, hearing the tap of the scorpion’s sting, was offended at the scorpion’s ungratefulness. Thankfully, having been granted the powers to both defend itself and to punish evil, the turtle sank beneath the waters and drowned the scorpion out of principle.

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” sneered the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back.”

The scorpion pleaded earnestly. “Do you think so little of me? Please, I must cross the river. What would I gain from stinging you? I would only end up drowning myself!”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Even a scorpion knows to look out for its own skin. Climb aboard, then!”

But as they forged through the rushing waters, the scorpion grew worried. This frog thinks me a ruthless killer, it thought. Would it not be justified in throwing me off now and ridding the world of me? Why else would it agree to this? Every jostle made the scorpion more and more anxious, until the frog surged forward with a particularly large splash, and in panic the scorpion lashed out with its stinger.

“I knew it,” snarled the frog, as they both thrashed and drowned. “A scorpion cannot change its nature.”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. The frog agreed, but no sooner than they were halfway across the scorpion stung the frog, and they both began to thrash and drown.

“I’ve only myself to blame,” sighed the frog, as they both sank beneath the waters. “You, you’re a scorpion, I couldn’t have expected anything better. But I knew better, and yet I went against my judgement! And now I’ve doomed us both!”

“You couldn’t help it,” said the scorpion mildly. “It’s your nature.”

___

…“Why on earth did you do that?” the frog said morosely. “Now we’re both going to die.”

“Alas, I was of two natures,” said the scorpion. “One said to gratefully ride your back across the river, and the other said to sting you where you stood. And so both fought, and neither won.” It smiled wistfully. “Ah, it would be nice to be just one thing, wouldn’t it? Unadulterated in nature. Without the capacity for conflict or regret.”

___

“By the way,” said the frog, as they swam, “I’ve been meaning to ask: What’s on the other side of the river?”

“It’s the journey,” said the scorpion. “Not the destination.”

___

…“What’s on the other side of anything?” said the scorpion. “A new beginning.”

___

…”Another scorpion to mate with,” said the scorpion. “And more prey to kill, and more living bodies to poison, and a forthcoming lineage of cruelties that you will be culpable in.”

___

…”Nothing we will live to see, I fear,” said the scorpion. “Already the currents are growing stronger, and the river seems like it shall swallow us both. We surge forward, and the shoreline recedes. But does that mean our striving was in vain?”

___

“I love you,” said the scorpion.

The frog glanced upward. “Do you?”

“Absolutely. Can you imagine the fear of drowning? Of course not. You’re a frog. Might as well be scared of breathing air. And yet here I am, clinging to your back, as the waters rage around us. Isn’t that love? Isn’t that trust? Isn’t that necessity? I could not kill you without killing myself. Are we not inseparable in this?”

The frog swam on, the both of them silent.

___

“I’m so tired,” murmured the frog eventually. “How much further to the other side? I don’t know how long we’ve been swimming. I’ve been treading water. And it’s getting so very dark.”

“Shh,” the scorpion said. “Don’t be afraid.”

The frog’s legs kicked out weakly. “How long has it been? We’re lost. We’re lost! We’re doomed to be cast about the waters forever. There is no land. There’s nothing on the other side, don’t you see!”

“Shh, shh,” said the scorpion. “My venom is a hallucinogenic. Beneath its surface, the river is endlessly deep, its currents carrying many things.”

“You - You’ve killed us both,” said the frog, and began to laugh deliriously. “Is this - is this what it’s like to drown?”

“We’ve killed each other,” said the scorpion soothingly. “My venom in my glands now pulsing through your veins, the waters of your birthing pool suffusing my lungs. We are engulfing each other now, drowning in each other. I am breathless. Do you feel it? Do you feel my sting pierced through your heart?”

“What a foolish thing to do,” murmured the frog. “No logic. No logic to it at all.”

“We couldn’t help it,” whispered the scorpion. “It’s our natures. Why else does anything in the world happen? Because we were made for this from birth, darling, every moment inexplicable and inevitable. What a crazy thing it is to fall in love, and yet - It’s all our fault! We are both blameless. We’re together now, darling. It couldn’t have happened any other way.”

___

“It’s funny,” said the frog. “I can’t say that I trust you, really. Or that I even think very much of you and that nasty little stinger of yours to begin with. But I’m doing this for you regardless. It’s strange, isn’t it? It’s strange. Why would I do this? I want to help you, want to go out of my way to help you. I let you climb right onto my back! Now, whyever would I go and do a foolish thing like that?”

___

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river. “Do I look like a fool?” said the frog. “You’d sting me if I let you on my back!”

“Be logical,” said the scorpion. “If I stung you I’d certainly drown myself.”

“That’s true,” the frog acknowledged. “Come aboard, then!” But no sooner had the scorpion mounted the frog’s back than it began to sting, repeatedly, while still safely on the river’s bank.

The frog groaned, thrashing weakly as the venom coursed through its veins, beginning to liquefy its flesh. “Ah,” it muttered. “For some reason I never considered this possibility.”

“Because you were never scared of me,” the scorpion whispered in its ear. “You were never scared of dying. In a past life you wore a shell and sat in judgement. And then you were reborn: soft-skinned, swift, unburdened, as new and vulnerable as a child, moving anew through a world of children. How could anyone ever be cruel, you thought, seeing the precariousness of it all?” The scorpion bowed its head and drank. “How could anyone kill you without killing themselves?”

ospreyonthemoon

A scorpion, not knowing how to swim, asked a frog to carry it across the river.

“To be honest,” said the desert rain frog. “I’m the wrong kind of frog for that.”

“Oh,” said the scorpion.

“I was hoping to find someone to carry me across, myself.” It admitted.

“Oh,” The scorpion said. “Well, we can wait together.”

And they sat, and spoke, and when a turtle happened to pass along, they both ventured together, and the scorpion was too busy sharing words to ever think of stinging.

—

“Actually,” said the scorpion, as it climbed onto the frog’s back, “My sting is harmless.”

“Oh really?” Said the frog, as it began to swim.

“Yes,” the scorpion waved the small stinger about. “The poison is useless to anything larger than a beetle. I can’t threaten you with it at all, you see, so you don’t really need to worry about it at all.”

The frog, now freed from the fear of death, began preparing to dive.

“Although,” the scorpion continued as it felt the frog slow down, “do not think me entirely defenceless.”

“Why not?” Said the frog. “All you have is your claws. And they aren’t sharp enough to pierce my skin.”

“No, they are not,” agreed the scorpion, getting a good hold of the frog’s shoulders. “But they are strong. They need to be, to hold my prey so my weak venom has time to work.”

“But they will not kill me.”

“No. But there are other ways to hurt.” The scorpion tightened its grip, letting the teeth of its claws sink into the skin.

“You will drown me, of course, but my claws will remain locked. My drowned corpse will hang over your shoulders, right here, claws buried in you. And everyone who sees you will see it. And they will see my frail little body, and my weak little stinger. And you will drown me, yes, but for the rest of your life everyone will know that you took the life of a creature that was no danger to you for no greater sin than that you did not want to grant them passage. You will never escape the weight of me on your back, waiting to be carried to the afterlife you delivered me to.”

The frog was silent, for a while, before it continued to swim. “I think I would have preferred you with a stinger that worked.”

The scorpion relaxed its grip. “And I would have preferred to not have to use it.”

—

“Do you know how many times we’ve done this?” Asked the frog, eyes flicking back to its passenger. “I can’t remember how long it’s been.”

“A million lives.” Purred the scorpion, claws nestled up to the frog’s neck. “A million lives now, with this one. And it never matters until we’re here.”

“I’m glad it’s us.” Said the frog, letting the tide sweep it away. “I’m glad even after a million lives, we always find each other.”

The scorpion clung tight, even as the water seeped into its carapace. “I’d never die with anyone else, my love.”

Hopelessly entangled, they faded into oblivion.

—

A chicken stood at the edge of a road, watching the cars go by.

“Is this all there is?” It asked.

“I don’t know.” Said the fox across from it, brushing some grass from it’s foot.

“But it might be nice to find out.”

—

-but no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river did a great catfish rise up, mouth so wide they could not escape.

“Oh, foolish frog and foolish bug.” It said, voice full of pity as it swallowed them both. “Your eyes glued to the most obvious threat, did you never think there were greater things to fear in a river as deep and wide as this?”

And the catfish swam off, to find more frogs to devour.

—

“Sorry?” The scorpion paused, confused. “Sting you? Why on earth would I do that?

“Well,” said the frog. “It’s in your nature to, isn’t it?”

“No, not at all!” The scorpion said, voice tinged with insult. “We don’t run around stabbing everything we see. That’s a good way to start a fight you can’t win. A stinger is just for catching food and fending off predators, really. It’s no more my nature to sting everything as it is your nature to drown everything. And you don’t do that, do you!”

The frog scowled, petulant at the tone. “Well, the scorpion I usually see here almost always stings me…”

“That seems like you’re projecting problems with one scorpion onto every scorpion you meet.” Said the scorpion. “I’m not really sure I trust you to take me across the river, frankly. Do you know if there’s another frog who could help?”

The frog grumbled, and slipped into the water.

—

The chicken stood on the banks of the river with it’s children. A fox sat on the other bank, with a bag of corn.

“Hoy, chicken.” Shouted the fox. “Do you ever think you might be stuck in a rut?”

“What’s it to you?” The chicken said, flapping a wing in annoyance. “My life is my own business, fox.”

The fox shrugged, pawing at the corn. “I just feel like I can’t get out of this cycle,” it said with a sigh. “Like my life is stuck on rails.”

—

“On rails?” The scorpion asked. “What do you mean?”

“My whole life is just this river-”

—

“This road-”

—

“This boat-”

—

“And it feels like it doesn’t change. It feels like I’m always just here. In the river, with you.”

—

“Is it such a bad place to be?” Asked the fox.

“With me?”

—

“How long do you think the river has been here?” Asked the scorpion.

The frog thought about that until the poison had seeped into its bones.

“As long as us,” it whispered, as its lungs gave out. “As long as we’ve needed it.”

—

“You’re not swimming right.” Said the scorpion, pinching the frog’s arm.

“You need to kick round with the back legs, push with the front, like this-” gently, it pushed the frog’s limbs into the correct position.

“Oh, thank you.” Said the frog. “I’m no good at this. I’ve never been a frog before.”

“You’re doing brilliantly, my dear.” The scorpion said, trying to reassure. “I would have taught you earlier if I could have.”

“And I would have taught you to walk.” The frog laughed, kicking much stronger now. “If only I’d known you didn’t know! I saw you stumbling over the sands there.”

“I’ve never had so many legs!” The scorpion wailed. “How do you manage them all? And the eyes!”

They were not making it across the river very fast.

“I don’t mind only having two eyes.” The frog admitted. “I could get used to it.”

Despite the tutoring, the frog was getting exhausted, weak muscles failing in strong currents.

The scorpion tried to kick at the water, but its frail carapace only dredged in the currents, dragging them both down further.

“Oh, we’re no good at it this way around.” The scorpion said with a shake of its tail, claws clinging so strongly to the frog’s gossamer skin that it ripped open, spilling the entrails like ruby ribbons into the depths.

The frog laughed, choking on the water it didn’t know how to breathe. “I can’t swim, and you won’t sting! Oh, how our natures fail us still!”

And the river claimed them both once more.

—

“Do you remember a time before the riverbank?” Asked the fox.

“Do you remember anything after it?” The Chicken countered, head stuck in the bag of corn as it ate its fill. “Is there anything but the pursuit of what we will never grasp?”

“Maybe we will grasp it,” the fox’s voice was tinged with hope, tail tucked tightly around its legs. “Maybe one day, we will be more than our natures, and we will not have to cross the river again.”

“I like the thrill of it.” Said the chicken. “I’d miss the thrill of it.”

The fox sighed, and lowered its head down to the chicken, already doomed to bite. “But still, wouldn’t it be nice?”

—

But alas, the rains had been heavy, and the river bank had become swollen and wide.

The frog kicked for what felt like an eternity, the scorpion holding steady on its back.

Eventually it could swim no longer, and its legs seized up, as it gasped for air.

“I’m sorry, my love-” the frog wheezed. “I don’t think I can make it-”

“It’s okay.” The scorpion’s voice was soft with sadness, knowing now that it was doomed to die. “I didn’t know it would be so hard. I’m sorry I did this to you. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“It’s not your fault,” said the frog, as the currents began to sweep them both downstream. “I wanted to help, I- I really thought I could get you there, I, we were so close -”

“We really were, weren’t we?” The scorpion’s hold on the frog was loosening, as its head swam from lack of oxygen. “We almost made it, we really did…”

The frog wailed in grief as the scorpion’s body was torn away, swallowed by the churning rapids.

—

A scorpion walked across an old riverbed. The smooth pebbles had long laid bare, the river dried up thousands of years ago.

It paused in the middle, overcome with a strange pain in its chest, and decided to turn back.

It felt wrong to cross this river alone.

—

“Where do you think the cars go?” Asked the fox.

The chicken watched a car drive by, seeing the shadowy shapes move within. “I try not to think about it. I want to be happy with my lot in life.”

—

-and no sooner had the frog gotten halfway across the river when the scorpion tapped its stinger against the frog’s back to get its attention.

“Hey,” said the scorpion. “I’m not really in that much of a rush, and it’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we just go up the river instead? I’ve always wanted to try standing on a lilypad.”

“Sure, if you’d like.” Said the frog. “I don’t have any plans for the day.

And while the river remained uncrossed, neither of them were unhappy about this.

—

“When did you know you loved me?” Asked the turtle, as the scorpion clung onto its back, hiding from the deep currents of the river.

The scorpion winced as a wave shook them. “Oh, from the start.” it said, shaking water from its tail. “Or near enough. I’d never met a frog before. And even though you didn’t know me, you laid your life on the line for me. For hope that the impossible was possible.”

The turtle considered that, thinking back across its many lives.

“I don’t think I knew I loved you until recently.” The turtle admitted, lifting its head from the water so its voice could be soft. “It took time, I think, to know. But that said, why else would I come back, time and time again to the same spot of the same river?”

“You have a world of rivers you could be in, my love.” The scorpion agreed. “And yet I always wait for you here. And you always come.”

“I’ve never been as vulnerable as I’ve been with you.” Even as the water licked up its shell, the turtle continued to swim. “I’d never trust my life to anyone else.”

“Here’s to us,” said the scorpion, raising its stinger. “And the river.”

“Here’s to us.” Said the turtle, raising a flipper to sting. “I hope we always find each other.”

—

“Well here we are,” said the frog to the scorpion. “The other side.”

“Here we are.” The scorpion agreed, slowly climbing off its back. “Thank you, for all of this.”

“Thank you for choosing me.” Said the frog. “Thank you for chaining my lives together. For helping me remember the infinity of Us.”

The scorpion didn’t answer, simply looking up, letting the sun warm its carapace.

“I’ve never really left the river.” The frog took another step onto the bank. “It’s… nice.”

The scorpion turned. For a moment, the frog felt the surge of adrenaline as it felt a pinch on its skin, only to find the scorpion had clasped its claw around their hand. “Come with me.” It pleaded, voice soft with urgency. “Come with me, and don’t say no. I won’t leave this river without you. We can see the other side together.”

Those claws could slice, but they were only firm. The river was only the river. But from the banks the frog could see a jungle of lush green, vibrant with life beyond its knowledge. It laughed. “I’ve always wondered what it was like out there.”

—

And the river was silent, with no moral questions to burden it.

ospreyonthemoon

That’s because i only added this bit this morning. I think its pretty good

ettawritesnstudies

Would anyone be interested if I put together a post on how to write a scientist/engineer/techy/smart-guy type character? What would y'all want to know?

ettawritesnstudies

Credentials: I currently work full time as a research chemist and have a degree in chemical engineering, plus in college I did part time work for a local IT company (though my coding skills are kind of shitty), I was on the aerospace team and helped my best friend build a life sized trebuchet big enough that I could fit in the bucket. So. I have a bit of exposure to mechanical engineering, computer science, the trades, and material science too.

The post would be more about "how does a person with a STEM background approach unique situations?"

"what ideosycrocies do scientists have if they work in a lab setting? If they work in a mech shop?"

"What are common mistakes I see in scientific type characters in media"

General stuff like that, but I'm happy to answer any specific Q&A people want to share

ettawritesnstudies

Hey! Anyone who was interested in this post (I'll dig through the responses and make a taglist in a minute), I just dropped the first part on my blog!

I've been working so hard on this 5-part series for over two months now and it's turned into an almost 15,000 word long deep dive essay full of citations and examples looking at every possible angle on this character archetype. I hope you'll enjoy reading along!

The idea guy. The techie. The mad scientist. Fiction loves nerds. They’re great for filling the glass-cannon role in the party composition (

ettawritesnstudies

Here's part 2!! In this one I'm talking about types of intelligence, different traits to give your smart guys, the scientific method, heuristics, and biases! There's a ton of examples from Arcane, Doctor Who, and even my own stories!

The idea guy. The techie. The mad scientist. Fiction loves nerds. They’re great for filling the glass-cannon role in the party composition,

ettawritesnstudies

Part 3! Thanks to everyone patient enough to read along with this series and to anyone who checks the notes to reblog the most recent updates :)

The idea guy. The techie. The mad scientist. Fiction loves nerds. They’re great for filling the glass-cannon role in the party composition (

ettawritesnstudies

Here's part 4! All about frequently (mis)represented demographics and stereotypes associated with Scientists and Smart Guys!

If you missed part 1, be sure to check that out here! It talks about my credentials for ranting about this topic, the relationship between I

#Etta u are so so cool #every time I log into here ur doing amazing things

ettawritesnstudies

So I haven't posted any updates on Kofi recently but only because I've been working on something cool!

In my YA fantasy novel, Runaways, the main character Hannah has a special interest in identifying the plants and animals she finds by their scientific names. So I designed a STEM themed study guide that educates readers about some of the creatures that are named in the book by sharing their scientific and common names, photographs, their habitat range, and fun facts!

It also includes activities you can do at home to get out in nature or get hands-on with crafts. It's somewhat aimed for younger readers (being a YA book) but it could also be used as a teaching tool if you're an educator, librarian, parent, etc. The activities include things like tapping maple trees, making spore prints, and birdwatching, with links to outside sources for instructions.

There are 21 pages and 12 different species featured!

Here's a sample page of our favorite animal companion, Kit-Kat. Hannah befriends this least weasel early in her journey and he becomes a huge helper to her!

Each page features an excerpt from the book and there's even a fun code that's featured in the story:

If you want to get a copy, it's available (at a discount) to Ko-Fi members on the $3 tier along with other exclusive Runaways content, or you can get it on my shop as a digital download for $5.

I'll be talking about this more in the coming weeks but I wanted to let people get it early if they wanted!

ettawritesnstudies

I made my debut YA fantasy book dyslexia friendly! This is part 1 of explaining how I typeset it, if you want to read the first three chapters completely for free, you can sign up for my mailing list here!

Part 2!

ettawritesnstudies

Big shout-out to my sister for helping me with this process! Runaways is a story about sisterhood and so I wanted the story to be shaped in a way that she could read it.

I also want to thank @writeblrfantasy for encouraging me to make these two reels. I find talking to cameras incredibly difficult so this required so many and then Instagram crashed four times in the editing process and I had the biggest meltdown before moving the footage over to my laptop to finish it. She was so encouraging when I was ready to give up on this but I'm glad I pushed through

Marketing is hard and indie authors are trying our best. Making accessible stories is really important to me and so if you take the time to listen through these two shorts, thank you <3

leebrontide

whyyyyyy did I have to see this literally 2 hours after sending my reformatted novels to print???

ettawritesnstudies

Oh noooo

I would like to say, this isn't the only way to format a book, this is just what worked best for my story! Runaways is upper middle grade/younger YA and about 85,000 words so the larger spacing on the words and lines was both appropriate for the age group and reasonable for the printing costs/constraints. The paperback will cost $17 which is a little pricy for the genre but not astronomically so.

But if you're writing an epic fantasy like Brandon Sanderson with a much higher word count, these tricks probably wouldn't work for you, and that's ok! Everyone's needs and budgets are different, especially in self publishing where we have to eat the printing costs!

Also, congratulations on sending off your print copies!! That's a big milestone!!!

inkskinned

it became like a point system, i guess.

it wasn't that he never did anything romantic or wonderful. he would do these things for me on occasion almost ritualistically - after i'd exhibited about four or five different breakdowns. he would finally book tickets to the symphony. we would finally spend a weekend in the mountains, drinking wine and listening to audiobooks. we would finally go on some serious expedition somewhere - no longer than a week, but it was felt. and those things would be 500, 700, 9000 points.

(at the time, as you know, i hadn't realized yet that it was always things that pertained to his interests. we did not go to poetry slams, we went to long and weird contemporary music festivals. we did not go to my places or be with my people - it was his places, his people. as ashamed as i am to admit it now: when he did begrudgingly allow me to cart him to my things, it still somehow became a point in his favor. that i brough him to the beautiful, sacred place of Acadia National Park earned him the 500 points - for his patience. for his willingness. for his sanctimony.)

and then he would cash in on those points and do virtually nothing. meanwhile, i'd buy dinner or send a card or call first or send a loving text or bring him little gifts. and these were all small things. they were 100, 200 points. i'd do this stupid, feminine, evil little domestic labor: the socks off the floor or getting groceries or remembering to turn the lights off or putting the seat down or whatever. the small "oopsie" partner things that you are supposed to accept. and those were all valued very low, as if i was in some kind of emotional arcade game. they'd be 5, 10, sometimes (in particularly rough moments) up to 50 points, if i was very generous with my cleaning and/or emotional supporting and/or romantic effort.

but the whole time, like clockwork, he'd call in on the points. remember when we went to new hampshire? or babe i just planned a date for you last month. on one very sweet moment, i remember him saying, without irony - why would i plan your birthday. i got you what you wanted for christmas. i am born in july, on the first. it had been 7 entire months. i had sent him the gift i had wanted - on reflection, had i not wanted him to "claim points" on something he hadn't put effort into? or was i just scared i'd be confronted with that same knowledge we've all had when opening a lackluster, terrible gift - this is fucking nothing. he claimed the points anyway, and i let him.

i don't know why i allowed it. i'm a feminist. i was already actively writing about emotional labor, all of that. but when you are raised in a house that loves anger, your whole body becomes an echo. you can't hear your own pain over the ache of your history. maybe it's just that it did feel - through catholic guilt or though my past or through my own passive and stupid fawning nature - like it made sense. yes, he did take me on a date last month! so what if he said i looked like a sausage in that dress (fully knowing of my eating disorder)? he had taken me on the date, which was kind of him.

i keep remembering how confused he was each time, holding up these little points in front of me. other men do it too sometimes - the men who assume they've earned enough "friendship" points to fuck me - but he was just so earnest about it. he didn't need to support me or hold me or be kind to me - he had already been kind, at one point, and now that job was over.

and i would stand in that little arcade of our lives and see my own score, bright and blazing above me. millions of points ahead of him, somehow, just because i was constantly trying. and i'd try to point it out to him and i would feel sort of dumb and obvious doing it. who can say i do your laundry is equivalent to we went to disney. but there it was, and there we were: him asking to win the biggest prize. the bright green monkey. and me, begging him - i just need you to show up for me consistently.

#crazy that I haven't read your poetry in ages #when it was the only thing keeping me sane for so long #and when I come back to see what you're up to #the first poem is so spot on to my current situation #wtf #get out of my head I love u

fairycosmos

basic human empathy has got to make a comeback divas

prokopetz

Wizard disguised as a harmless beggar showing up at a castle and doing everything in their power to make themselves an obnoxious guest so that when the master of the house finally snaps they can declare them a poor host and put a curse on them, but nothing is working, and they're starting to wonder who's really fucking with whom.

paradoxius

There once was a man who had nothing in the world but his son and his house in the woods. When he died, the son was left with nothing but the house. Presently, an aged traveler was passing through the woods and stopped at the house.

"Let me stay the night in this house," he shouted at the boy. There was not much space in the house, but even so and without another word the boy opened the door and let the traveler in.

"Let me have some food to eat," shouted the traveler. The boy had only a small piece of bread and cup's worth of wine in his cupboard, but even so and without another word he gave them to the man.

"Wash these clothes in the river and have them dry by morning," shouted the traveler. There was not enough sunlight left for the clothes to dry on the line, but even so and without another word the boy washed the clothes and set about drying them over the fire.

"Stoke this fire hotter," shouted the traveler. The boy did as he said until he had burned up all his firewood, but even so and without another word the boy took boards from his house to make heat to his guest's liking.

"Let me sleep in your best bed," shouted the traveler. There was only one bed in the small house and the boy was already planning to say up to tend the fire so the clothes would finish drying in time, so he told the traveler that was already a given.

"Slaughter your most prized animal for my supper," shouted the traveler. The boy had but one animal: a goose. But rather than slaughter it without another word, the boy begged the traveler, "let me not kill this goose, for I love nothing else so much in the world."

The traveler scoffed at this strange request, but abided it and made another offer. "If you will not kill the goose," said the traveler, "then butcher yourself for me to eat." Again the boy questioned his guest's demand saying, "if I were to die for your supper, who would finish drying your clothes, or stoke the fire as you slept, or make you breakfast in the morning as you must certainly want?"

The traveler was taken aback by the boy's selflessness. You see, his greedy demands were tests in truth, and he would have set a magical punishment upon the boy had any of them been selfishly refused. The boy's strange demand to spare the goose and his seeming willingness to sacrifice himself but for his responsibilities as a host now set the traveler's plan in doubt.

The boy, in truth, was a prince, and his house was a magnificent castle in a rich kingdom. All had been transformed into their poor state along with his father, who was a king, as the result of a curse incurred during similar visit some time in the past.

The boy was actually just passing the time until a virtuous girl happened by, at which point the boy would test her by making his own unreasonable demands so that she could prove her virtue and be rewarded by the restoration of his kingdom.

Also the boy's father wasn't actually dead. Instead, he had been miraculously transformed into a goose after someone tried to murder him and throw him in the river as part of an inheritance thing. Totally unrelated inheritance thing, actually. Nothing to do with the cursed kingdom. The boy didn't know about it, though, so it's not relevant to this particular story.

But the goose-ghost dad thing is.

Like I said, the traveler was confused by the boy's seemingly strange priorities, but he made an ultimatum. "Either kill your goose or yourself. If you must live to stoke my fire and dry my clothes and make my breakfast, then the goose must die to make supper."

"Then it shall," said the boy, and at that very moment the traveler and the boy's father changed places, the goose becoming again a man, and the man becoming a goose. The goose—no longer a guest, since geese can't be guests—was instantly slaughtered by the boy, and he and his father had a rich supper in the humble house they shared.

Baba Yaga was also there.

thestuffedalligator

The toadstools grew in a perfect ring the width of a child’s hula hoop.

They were upside down and clinging to the ceiling like stalactites.

“I have concerns,” she said.

“So do I,” they said. “If I step under it, does it count as stepping into a fairy circle? I mean, if a plane flies over a fairy circle it doesn’t count as stepping into it, but do the same rules apply if you’re walking under a fairy circle?”

“Right.”

“Actually, what is the area of effect for a fairy circle? Is it like a sphere that has the same circumference of the circle, so if I just duck underneath it I’ll be fine? Or is it a cylinder? How far up does the cylinder go? Or down, in this case.”

“Right.”

“Some of the many mysteries of the fey we may wonder about forever.”

They continued to stare up at the ring of toadstools. Thoughtful seconds ticked by.

“See, my concerns are mostly about how much moisture you have in your room.”

“Sorry?”

“You have mushrooms growing out of your ceiling.”

“Oh.”

She patted their back with sympathetic pity. “I appreciate that you live in a world of whimsy and delight, and I don’t want to squash that because I love you, but I also really don’t want you to die of black mold.”

“She’s right, you know,” said the goblin sitting upside down in the circle.

cirrup

(Before I get back to mostly svsss stuff) real quick because I was working on the first picture earlier: I wanted y’all to get to see some of my favorite time sinks

Back to writing chapter 4!

cirrup

Wait really quick I forgot this one. Loved this one

cirrup

@bansheeeesh The espresso machine CAUSED insanity for sure

artbyblastweave

What, the forest-dwelling entities with imperfect human mimicry who insinuate themselves into groups of hikers? Yeah, we had one of those. Clocked it immediately, of course. Honestly it kind of fell in that so-inept-it's-kind-of-charming range. We just played along until it'd had it's fill of marshmallows and shambled back into the treeline. We might have been violating some kind of killjoy wildlife contact best practices but what the hell, can't plan around every little thing. Why, what happened to you guys

eikotheblue

these tags are gold omg

rhysintherain

It's a misconception that the mimics are hunting humans when they trail along at the back of hiking groups.

In fact, the creature you'll find suddenly walking beside you and acting as if they've always been there is almost certainly a juvenile, as the adults lose the ability when they reach reproductive age.

Recent studies suggest the forest mimic is less like a preying mantis (mimicry as a hunting strategy) and more like a cuckoo (mimicry as a protective strategy for their young). Adult forest mimics will leave their offspring near a group of hikers while they forage during the day, and retrieve them near trailheads in the evening. Groups of hikers provide safety from predators and allow the parents of the species the freedom to forage more widely.

For this reason, the traditional advice to never let a mimic into your vehicle is still very important, as this would separate the young mimic from its mother. If a juvenile forest mimic does follow your group to the parking lot, you can keep it entertained with trail snacks, dad jokes, and simple goofs. The mother will usually collect them shortly before sunset.

When you notice the woods around the trailhead go silent and feel a sense of nameless foreboding, find an excuse to avert your attention from the juvenile so it can sneak back into the forest to rejoin its mother, convinced it's fooled another party of unsuspecting humans.

fandomcompass

surprisingly wholesome takes from the cryptid community here

doggeddetermination

@monstrousproductions

writing-prompt-s

You’re a daycare worker, watching over toddlers, when the imminent end of the world is announced. It becomes increasingly clear none of the kids’ parents are going to show up as the end inches nearer.

bixbythemartian

[Audio starts]

“Mom has been texting me for the last twenty minutes. She wants me to come home. It’s a four hour drive, when the roads are clear, and from what I hear everybody is trying to get somewhere right now. There’s no telling if I’d even-”

“Everybody else has left. All the other kids were picked up, the other staff left. They gave me all the keys. I promised to stay and wait for as long as- well. Even if some of the parents show up, I guess some of them won’t, so I’m just waiting. Until.”

[Clears throat.]

“A couple of people came after everybody left. Peter, one of Aidan’s fathers, gave me three hundred dollars for staying. What am I going to do with money? It’s- anyway. I kind of get it. He wanted to give me something.”

[Audio ends]

[Audio starts]

“They’re all between 2 and 4.” Sniff. “They’re so little. Too little to really- maybe if they were older, I’d have to tell them something. But um. I’m just- trying to stay calm and keep them happy and occupied. I think that’s the best thing, right now.”

[Heaving breaths.]

“I normally use this recorder to help me remember stuff. It’s just, uh, habit to talk to it. I don’t know. They’re napping, right now. I’ve got the baby monitor, they know that if they talk into it, I’ll come, so-”

[Sobbing.]

[Audio ends]

[Audio starts]

“Mom keeps texting, so I blocked her. I sent her a text telling her goodbye, first, but. I do. But these kids need me.”

[Sniff.]

“I tried calling their parents again, but I can’t get anybody. It’s just busy signals. I called the firefighter station, 911. I can’t get through to anybody.”

[Shaky breath.]

“I went out into the yard. Um, I think they can play. It’s nice out, and you can’t really see it yet. Little bit of a glimmer, if they ask I’ll just tell them it’s a plane, but it’s nice out and we’ve got hours before-”

[Murmuring child’s voice, indistinguishable.]

[Audio ends]

Keep reading

nosebleedclub

If I could do it again

jokermoreau

it wouldn't have happened

inkwell-attitude

I'd still be watching from the sidelines

lisa-rayner-deactivated20151211

theultimateburritofic

the world keeps ending, the world goes on - franny choi // fragile dreams farewell ruins of the moon // dispatches from a future great-great granddaughter - franny choi // what resembles the grave but isnt - anne boyer // quiet country cafe // i know the end - phoebe bridgers

fragile dreams gif by @natade-art quiet country cafe gif by @oldbrain

specialagentartemis

When does a genre literary trope cross the threshold into marketing trend?

A good article from Tor that articulates a lot of my impatience and frustration with current SFF marketing trends. Beige indeed.

mikkeneko

The solution to all this lies in understanding why tropes felt good to us in the first place. Porting them straight over from fanfiction ignores what made them work in fanfiction—our preexisting love for the characters the tropes are happening to. When a trope befalls a character I don’t care about, it’s like holding a blank slate up to a mirror to see a second blank slate reflected back at me. When we ask tropes to carry the full weight of the book they appear in, we de-incentivize the deep work of building meaningful characters, textured worlds, and emotionally honest relationships. Enemies to Lovers is marketing copy, but the book has to be more. The book is the process of making me care why these two exact, specific people in this exact, specific circumstance changed their minds about each other; what qualities in each other made them feel curiosity, attraction, and respect. The tropes, ultimately, are window dressing. It’s the characters that matter.

writing-prompt-s

When you turn 18, you go to the Chapel to summon a Familiar, then your future is decided based on its shape. All you can do is name the creature and then the summoning does the rest. After you name it, the priestesses all stare at you with horror in their eyes, then scream when it appears.

i-am-thornqueen

"Who."

"Your familiar, what will you name it?"

"Who."

"Your familiar."

"Yes, that."

"You'll name your familiar That?"

"No, That's my mother."

"Your familiar is your mother?"

"No, my familiar is Who."

The priestess pinch the bridge of her nose, her patience clearly wearing thin. Her next words were spoken through gritted teeth. "What will you name your familiar?"

"Who." You can hardly keep the grin off your face.

Finally at the end of her patience, the priestess uttered an oath and looked down at the scroll in her hands to make sure she had the right apostle and not simply someone who'd wandered in to cause trouble. The priestess paled upon seeing the name. Unfortunately, you are the right apostle and you are definitely there to cause trouble.

Her eyes flick up behind you.

The heads of more priestesses shoot up, eyes growing wide. Some screamed. Some fell to their knees. Others fainted, and it would be days before they came to their senses again.

You look back to find chaos incarnate, an impossible being who was too large for the room, too real for reality, and too many things all at once. It was twisting and unformed, smiling and snarling and laughing and screaming with too many mouths; countless eyes gazed from too many places, seeing too many things beyond mortal comprehension.

It looks down upon you.

You smile up at it. "Who?"

It smiled. And Frowned. And snarled. "What?"

"Exactly."

It nods, and you see the glimmer of understanding in its fathomless eyes. There is a spark of humour there, too, or whatever passes for humour in a chaos incarnate eldritch beast. It folds itself down, down, down into a portable form - a feathered body that didn't look like feathers if you looked at it from the corner of your eye; a flattened face with, perhaps, too many eyes if you looked at it too quickly. Maybe it has too many talons. Too many legs. Too many wings. It sort of looked like an owl, but only if you'd never seen an owl before. It lands gently on your shoulder and weighs absolutely nothing.

"Who," it introduces itself, confirming its agreement to the name.

"What," you reply to complete the bond. You come from a long line of mischief, from your mother That to your grandmother How and her mother before that named When. 'What' was a particularly inspired choice of name. Your bloodline exists to remind people that magic, like life, is not meant to be taken overly seriously. It's chaotic, and sometimes it's even fun. You can tell your familiar understands the assignment already.

Who laughs.

You grin.

"We will accomplish many things together," Who says. "None of it will be useful, but all of it will be entertaining."

Your face hurts from how hard you are smiling. "Entertainment is its own purpose."

"Indeed."

"Would you like to go home now?"

"I would like that, yes."

You and Who leave the Great Hall just as the Grand Master Priest walks in and sees the room in utter disarray. You hear him demand, "What happened here?!"

You feel especially accomplished when you hear the head priestess sigh, "Exactly."

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