Okay, buckle up buckaroos, because today I met an honest-to-goodness cryptid.
I was out running errands and I made a stop at Intimate Books (…for a friend), and on my way out I realized that the bookshop next door was open.
This bookshop has existed for more than a hundred years, and in all my life it has NEVER BEEN OPEN. I mean, I assume it has to be open sometimes, but never at any normal, reasonable hour. Everyone says it’s a front for the mob or something.
So what do you do when the weird mafia bookshop is open? You go the fuck inside.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. You know that smell when you accidentally leave your towel on the bathroom floor all day and you come back to that mildew funk? The shop smelled like that times a thousand. I expected to see stuff growing on the walls, but the books were pristine. We’re talking first editions, rare editions, weird Bibles and books inscribed to really famous dead people. Librarians would weep for the chance to accession this place. In the first two minutes I found a signed copy of The Crucible and what I think was a first edition of Blake’s Book of Thel.
Then a clerk showed up out of nowhere—honestly nowhere. He looked EXACTLY like a bookseller should look, kind of fluffy and bewildered and really, really gay.
“Are you lost?” was the first thing he said to me.
“Nope. Just browsing, thanks.”
“Browsing, I see. Erm. How do you feel about snakes?” he asked. And without waiting for me to answer, he just walked away and vanished around a shelf.
I figured it was a metaphor, or a code phrase for the mafia. Until I turned a corner like ten minutes later and found a little reading nook. It was really pretty, although I feel like that particular window should have been on an interior wall? Anyway, curled up in an armchair in a patch of sunlight was the biggest fuck-off black snake I have ever seen.
Like, I don’t mind snakes in general. But in their normal context, right? Outside. On the ground. Not six feet long and sitting on a threadbare velvet armchair like it owns the place.
I was about to turn around and leave, but I saw a gorgeous first-edition copy of Leaves of Grass on a shelf, a little too close to the snake for comfort. But I had never needed anything so badly in my life.
So I went back to the counter to buy it, but the clerk was nowhere to be found.
While I was waiting, I noticed a collection of pictures hanging on the wall behind the counter, dating back to the very dawn of photography. A couple were of this rock-star looking guy from the 70s that I should probably have recognized, but there were authors and landscapes and stuff, too. There was even an old tintype portrait of Oscar freaking Wilde, sitting in this very shop with a guy that I would ACTUALLY SWEAR was the clerk from before. Like, I know my family all has the same nose, but this guy had the same everything.
After approximately one year of waiting, the clerk came back out to the desk. By now I’ve realized that he’s too bad at his job to be anything but the owner of the shop.
“I saw your snake,” I told him.
“Did you? Was he behaving himself?”
“He was sleeping.”
“Yes, he enjoys that.”
“Does he just stay out in the open like that? What if he gets out?”
He shrugged and smiled. “He always comes home again, the dear boy.”
Right, a homing snake. That’s totally normal.
Then he cleared his throat and asked, in a weirdly reluctant voice, if I was going to buy the Whitman.
“Yes, please,” I told him. “I saw it on a shelf by the snake, and it was just too tempting.”
He sighed. “Oh, yes, I expect it was.”
When I started to hand him my card, he went all fluttery and said that they didn’t take cards.
All right, fine. I had some cash on me, but I told him that he’d sell a lot more books if he got a Square or something.
He got this scandalized look on his face and went, “Why would I want to do that?”
Oookay. I handed over the cash and he popped open the ancient till and started making change.
In shillings. Shillings! I swear to god I saw Queen Anne’s face on one of them. The silver value of the coins was probably as much as I paid for the book.
But I had to have proof that this happened—at that point, all I had was a book in a plain brown wrapper, not appreciably different from what I bought next door. So I asked him for a receipt.
He looked delighted and wrote one up for me.
By hand.
With a fountain pen.
And that’s the story of how I met a bookseller cryptid and his pet snake.
yesterday in economic botany we were learning about plant based oil compounds and stuff and my botany professor was talking about lynn seed oil, which in woodworking is rubbed on over furniture as a varnish. this oil has an exothermic chemical reaction with oxygen, meaning that the reaction creates heat. what often happens, apparently, is that woodworkers will finish rubbing on the oil with a rag and then will ball up the rag and throw it away, but because the reaction is taking place and the heat can’t escape (like it would on a piece of furniture where it can be cooled) it gets trapped in the rag, which gets hotter and hotter until it reaches the temperature where it bursts into flame. apparently many woodworking shops have been burned down by this. the proper way to dispose of rags with this oil is to hang them up on a clothesline, so again the reaction never gets enough heat to start a fire. im telling you this because im a writer and ive never heard of substance that will just…spontaneously combust conveniently like that so long as it’s in a confined space. my botany professor tried it in a trash can in his driveway and it did indeed burst into flame after 45 minutes, which is an exceptionally convenient time delay. im sorry im tying this so fast my laptop is on 2% battery and theres no outlet an
Very excited to share a new comic I made with @annasellheim (The first part by Anna, the second part by me)
We both really believe that @plannedparenthood is vital for women’s health, so to show our support we made a comic about our lovely experiences there.
If you have any questions or just want to support PP, visit https://www.plannedparenthood.org/
Find more of my work on my website or twitter
Find Anna’s work on her website or twitter
Disney Characters Gender Swap
I SPENT. A WHOLE. FUCKING. SEMESTER. PAINTING THIS. MONTHS.
I WANT IT TO GET LOTS OF NOTES, GIVE IT LOTS OF NOTES, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW PAINSTAKING AND TIME INTENSIVE THIS WAS.
I love seeing people’s picrew art styles because you can just look at them and be like
“You read homestuck and it was a big part of your life for a few years, you’re not into steven universe but you did watch it, and you had an intense black butler phase in middle school and doodled their eyes over and over again in your spiral notebooks”
They were the one thing her mother hated and her father loved, the three tarantulas that had come to visit the little girl with the pink toy teapot that poured out real tea. She was always happy to see them, would get out her mismatched teaset and hand out cups - light pink for Jer, hot pink for Kei, and yellow for Mey.
She had always been a rather odd child. Her mother a bitter human and her father an elven druid in search of knowledge, and herself a half-elf. She had a proficiency for accidental magic, even before the expected age. Yet no one could explain how she conjured tea into her little pink teapot, fresh and steaming. She refused to say, simply smiling and saying that the spiders had taught her.
When she started school, both parents were relieved, hoping their daughter would begin to make friends with other elves or humans, or half-elves. For a bit, they thought it was working. Their daughter spoke of three little ones that she enjoyed spending time with, named Jer, Kei, and Mey. She came home with various gifts gift from the three, from a beautifully and expertly crafted white silk hair tie to a dress woven in patterns that even the most professional seamstress hadn’t seen before to a simple black friendship bracelet woven from what looked hair. Her parents were willing to ignore these strange gifts in favor of being happy that their child was interacting with other humans.
Then, of course, the school sent a letter telling them to visit the school while the children were at lunch. The teacher sat them down, explaining that the girl didn’t interact with other children, and at recess sat beside a tree and talked to three large, alarming spiders. No matter how hard the school had tried, they were unable to either get the tarantulas off of the premises nor were they able to convince her to get them to leave. Her parents were disappointed, watching throughout recess as their daughter ran off from the group of children heading for the playground to sit beside a tree and talk to the spiders that had grown exponentially. They were now half the size that she was, and clicking their pincers excitedly.
The parents could do nothing, no matter what they tried - banishing spells, fire, forbidding her to ever see the spiders again. They watched as their daughter grew up, hitting puberty and pimples breaking out along her face, her insecurities arising, the spiders following her nearly everywhere; her first heartbreak, and the ensuing hug(?) that lasted forever; when she graduated, they were waiting offstage for her and clicking their pincers along with the rest of the crowd’s applause. By that time, they were as large as she was.
She got all A’s in her classes, excelling most in nature magic, a battered little pink teapot in her backpack always. When she went off to college, they went too, and her parents frowned in disapproval at it, but said nothing. She studied history, memorizing tales of the Spider Queen, an evil woman taught and mentored by three spiders who influenced her to take over the world.
It made her think of herself, to an extent, but never once had Jer, Kae, or Mey ever tried to tell her to take over the world. Instead, they told her that she could accomplish her goals, she was better than she believed herself to be, and listening to the bullies of her school was a bad idea. She trusted them, after they had kept her from losing herself to her own low self-esteem. So, when they told her that she was who she read about, she trusted them. She refused however, to do as her previous self had done, and rule the world.
Instead, she pursued a career as a Shaman, a helper and selfless person who didn’t worry for herself and instead helped maintain the balance of light at dark, knowing that without one there couldn’t be the other. Her career led to her own writings, published works that gave her a name in the history books, one her past life had already had. The Spider Queen.
Image Prompt
Try muting your notifs?
So....I feel kinda bad but I think I need to do something. I get really anxious when I get too many notifications and I follow a lot of blogs who have similar content. I might unfollow some people to get rid of some notifications but I feel bad because I still like the content from those blogs and don't wanna miss anything but....anxiety
my attempts at drawing frogs
parents who tell their daughters they are ugly are bad parents
Micha, 16, non-binary, they|them. Writer, artist, part time blogger. I like music, books, photography, and social equality. Header and Icon are both orginal artworks by me.
282 posts