The Skellingcorner

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna
fandonetrash
teaboot

Too bad the prophet Cassandra never met Odysseus

teaboot

They say if she made a prophecy Nobody would believe her

kansascity-elffriend

I’ve gotta say, that is exactly the kind of stupid thing that probably would circumvent a curse.

elidyce

Cassandra: YOU ARE ALL GOING TO REGRET THIS SO MUCH YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. 

Odysseus: Regret it why?

Cassandra: You won’t believe me if I tell you. If I prophecy, nobody believes me. That is my curse.

Odysseus: … I’m Nobody. Fill me in. 

*A couple of months later* 

Odysseus: HELLO PENELOPE, I AM HERE PRECISELY ON TIME AND NOT YEARS LATE incidentally I rescued and adopted a Trojan seer while I was away, she’s great, got me home really fast, Cassandra this is your new mother who’s not going to treat you like shit. 

Penelope: … I’m going to need more details, but okay, sure. 

Cassandra: *in tears* I love you, new family. 

mooncustafer

But didn’t he only call himself Nobody to the Cyclops on the journey home? You’d have a causality paradox.

elidyce

If Odysseus was smart enough to call himself ‘Nobody’ to fool Polyphemus, he’s smart enough to come up with it in the face of a seer lamenting the fact that she’s cursed to have ‘nobody’ believe her. 

ODYSSEUS WAS VERY SMART AND THIS IS THE HILL I WILL DIE ON.

Source: teaboot
webuiltmonsters

Myths, Creatures, and Folklore

thewritingcafe

Want to create a religion for your fictional world? Here are some references and resources!

General:

Africa:

The Americas:

Asia:

Europe:

Middle East:

Oceania:

Creating a Fantasy Religion:

Some superstitions:

Read More

thewritingcafe

Here, I have some more:

Africa:

The Americas:

Asia:

Europe:

Oceanic:

General:

redadhdventures

Reblogging because wow. What a resource.

hard-were-wolf

You have satisfied my mighty need!

Source: nimblesnotebook-blog
trailblazingfever

“Radium Girls” by Eleanor Swanson

trailblazingfever

We sat at long tables side by side in a big

dusty room where we laughed and carried

on until they told us to pipe down and paint.

The running joke was how we glowed,

the handkerchiefs we sneezed into lighting

up our purses when we opened them at night,

our lips and nails, painted for our boyfriends

as a lark, simmering white as ash in a dark room.

“Would you die for science?” the reporter asked us,

Edna and me, the main ones in the papers.

Science? We mixed up glue, water and radium

powder into a glowing greenish white paint

and painted watch dials with a little

brush, one number after another, taking

one dial after another, all day long,

from racks sitting next to our chairs.

After a few strokes, the brush lost its shape,

and our bosses told us to point it with

our lips. Was that science?

I quit the watch factory to work in a bank

and thought I’d gotten class, more money,

a better life, until I lost a tooth in back

and two in front and my jaw filled up with sores.

We sued: Edna, Katherine, Quinta, Larice and me,

but when we got to court, not one of us

could raise our arms to take the oath.

My teeth were gone by then. “Pretty Grace

Fryer,” they called me in the papers.

All of us were dying.

We heard the scientist in France, Marie

Curie, could not believe “the manner

in which we worked” and how we tasted

that pretty paint a hundred times a day.

Now, even our crumbling bones

will glow forever in the black earth.

Radium Girls History poetry radioactivity death