#index; mythos

[veiledfox]

"Maybe I should do a small shopping trip... get some new clothes... maybe a swimsuit, or some lingerie...?"

[nymph-yoongi]

affection w/namjoon

Word count: 767

Namjoon is not the most affectionate person, often preferring to just exist in each other’s company

That being said, he does like it when you cling to him; you bring out his soft side

If you’re shorter than him, he’ll rest his chin on the top of your head

Although he’s not very into PDA, he does like to be able to either see you or touch you, happy to even just observe you while you do something 

The way he shows his love for you most often is by making time for you and showing you that you’re a priority to him 

Spare time is very rare and precious, so he makes sure to make time for you, even if it’s not easy

He enjoys taking care of you and feeling like you can depend on him to provide, but it also warms his heart when you do anything to provide for him as well (cooking for him, buying him gifts, etc.)

When he’s working, he tends to fixate on what he’s doing and forget to eat; when you bring him food or water or send him reminders to take care of himself, he feels grateful to have you in his life

He’s not afraid to admit his flaws, but it does bring him a special kind of peace when the two of you just lay in bed and talk about your own flaws with each other; to know he can be imperfect and still be loved is a healing thing to know 

Likes having intellectual discussions with you about philosophy, cosmology, and just anything that lets him see more into the inner workings of your mind 

He loves when you match his energy, whether he’s being goofy and dancing around like a maniac, or if he’s in a more spiritual and thoughtful mood; it makes him feel like you understand him in a way few others do

Likes coming up with places to go with you and events/activities you can experience together

Prefers shared experiences to buying you physical gifts

Has a hard time being very cutesy, he almost always gets shy and covers his face, especially if he does aegyo 

Despite his shyness, he enjoys it when you compliment him; especially if you call him handsome and/or smart

He used to be insecure about his nose, so he still gets a little shy if you kiss him on the nose

Has a tendency to wrap himself around you when you’re sleeping together 

Can’t and won’t stop taking pictures of you

Even though he can’t post them, his gallery on his phone is mostly photos of you, whether you’re at a museum, in nature somewhere, or just looking cute while asleep

He loves doing little photoshoots of you and showing you off to the people that know about you

Since he takes so many photos of you, it makes him happy when you take nice pictures of him too

It makes him happy knowing that you feel the same urge to show him off, that he feels about you

It’s pretty common for you to either be on an adventure together or just staying inside with good books

He leaves you little notations in the books he’s already read because you once said it makes you feel like he’s reading it with you

Takes pictures of the scenery around him whenever you’re apart; plants, pretty rocks, crab, you name it, he’s sent you a picture of it 

“I didn’t want to bother the bugs under this rock but look how pretty it is!”

If he ever has to travel without you, he sends you the prettiest postcards he can find with the cheesiest messages on them 

“It’s raining here today; even the sky is sad you’re not with me”

Draws little Koyas on his letters and postcards to you

If he knows he’ll be gone from you for a long time, he’ll leave letters for you to read when you miss him 

Writes short poems for you when he’s feeling sentimental and will leave them on sticky notes and index cards for you to find

Writes snippets of songs about different mythos of soulmates when he thinks about you 

Tells you about the myth of humans being created; how we were all made with four arms, four legs, and two heads, then cursed to spend our lives wandering in search of our other half 

“Despite the distance, I feel at peace knowing that I’ve found my other half; I don’t feel the need to search for anything anymore. I found what I need”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Common Knowledge 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Harald Halfdansson, tall & plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You unfurl the strip of legal pad, marked with Professor Halfdansson's messy and pointed writing. The usual scribble that has you squinting at your returned papers. He must be the only instructor in the college that still handmarks his assignment.

Like much of his style, his slanted cursive is chaotic. Often, his lectures or spiraling tangents about his trips to Norway or some mythos unrelated to the topic at hand. He is a well of knowledge, but one which is often overflowing and bottomless.

The subject is far from your first choice. You prefer history with a human subject. Your intrigue is those events which truly occurred, people who once walked the same earth as yourself. Mythos and belief is a human creation but it hardly captures your imagination.

Along your search for title jotted onto the scrap, you find several other books to sate your personal preferences. A book on the Beothuk and their demise and another illustrated index of Renaissance art. Finally, you find the rear corner of the store, the mythology shelves nestled behind Spirituality and New Age.

You hover your finger before the rows and lean in, squinting through your lenses as you search out the rather Nordic-sounding name. You sense a shadow at the end of the aisle but do not look over. You'll just be on your way once you-- there it is.

You pinch the spine of the deep blue tome and slide it out. The cover is stamped with gold runes and lettering, a viking helm the central image. You double-check that it matches the professor's scrawl, however you can never be sure as his Fs look like Ss.

You set it flat on your armful of book, balancing the weight with the rest as you crumple the scrap and tuck it into your pocket. It's a bit more than you want to spend but it will be useful in maintaining your average through Halfdansson's course.

The shadow comes closer and you shift out of the way for the approaching customer. You sidle away as they huff, a breath that fans around them. He leans into the shelf and you sense his head shift and his gaze follow your slow retreat.

"Ah, you are a fan of vikings?" He asks, stopping you in your tracks. "You must've watched the show, hm? Cute series but not very accurate, you know?"

You blink, taken aback but his tone and his assumption. It isn't the first time you've met the attitude in your chosen discipline. When it comes to military history or the lives of vaunted men, there is often an intonation towards female scholars. You have been dismissed more than once.

"Never seen it," you lie, "you seem the type though."

You note his snow white hair, a peculiar shade, drawn back into a half pony, and his blindingly pale eyes. He wears a tunic better housed in the closet of a LARPing club and looms with an air of indignation. He puts a thick hand on the shelf and leans, no doubt used to towering over others.

"Funny, that is the very book I came for," he intones.

"Oh, what a coincidence."

HIs jaw ticks and he snorts, "seems you've found quite the lot--"

"I have. A whole trove."

You go to turn away and hear his sole clomp down behind you, "surely you can grab another encyclopedia. I really need that one."

"Uh, no, this is what I need."

He follows you down the aisle as you keep a quick step, uneasy at how he trails you so fervently.

"Maybe you should grab another one."

"I have all the others. I've been waiting months for that to come into stock," he insists.

"Well, you can find a kiosk and order one in--"

"On a three month backorder," he interjects and grabs your arm. "I'll pay you--"

You spin back to face him and hit his chest with your books, "don't touch me."

"Well, just..." he retracts his hand, "hold up. I'm trying to talk to you. To barter--"

"I'm sorry, but I need this book for class," you hug the books and back up, overly aware of the tingliness from where he grabbed you. You don't like being touched. At all. You can feel your heart pumping.

"Does the school not have a library, little girl?"

Your mouth falls open. Little girl? This guy just can't help himself. You haven't been rude, maybe matter-of-fact, but he's been downright mean.

"Not for sale," you push your shoulders up and back away.

You twist on your heel and speed away. You weave between the shelves and discount tables and join the winding queue at the counter. You don't look back and sway in your boots, waiting your turn.

"I could give you several recommendations for an alternate text," the man appears at your side, crowding you inside the black cords that rein in the queuing customers.

You ignore him and turn your head away. You wish he'd just take a hint. If you heard a single please or any sort of respect, you might consider it. He's only been a jackass and judging at first glance, he's too old for that.

"You don't need it–"

You move with the line and he growls, shifting with you.

"Look, girl–"

You snap your head back and give him a glare. He sucks in one cheek and exhales heavily, "miss, I am asking you nicely–"

The associate at the counter calls for next and you take your cue. You quickly cross the space and put your haul onto the wooden ledge. You hear the pushy stranger snarl something under his breath. You refuse to look back as you hand over your membership card.

Men like that are the very reason you despise the general public. Hard to fathom how you can be so intrigued by the human condition when you can hardly bear to be around other people.

[antirepurp]

Question: what unfiction series do you recommend?

ohhhh this is a tough one for a number of reasons, including me having been busy lately so im not sure exactly what's new and interesting at the moment. that said...

i've been thinking about petscop again and how it plays with old creepypasta tropes and elements in its presentation, how it presents you with a game you have and will never play, and still evokes a kind of nostalgia within you and gives you an understanding of what is and isn't normal within its context. it isn't for everyone, in the sense that you'll never have a clear picture of the story and are forced to interpret things yourself, but for me that is just. mint shit. i love not knowing what happens in petscop but also knowing exactly what happens in petscop it's great

i also mentioned valle verde recently. similar to petscop it's a game you'll never play, but it goes extremely hard on its presentation and i just have to applaud it for that. there are animated 2d cutscenes for the opening of the game that the player skips, because they've seen them so many times. there are fake games within the fake game. there's a tremendous amount of love and effort that has been put into this series and that alone makes me run up the walls about it. the story has also been interesting to follow and it knows when to get into the scares, instead of throwing jump scares or something at you constantly. each video has english subs but they're also available in spanish. pretty sure it's spanish and not portugese. im going to be real embarrassed if i say it's spanish but it was actually portugese

monument mythos is also a classic! and tends to live in my brain rent-free whenever i revisit it. especially the early seasons fall more into line with analogue horror if that's a style you enjoy. it's alternative american history with supernatural elements and it strikes the part of me that enjoys history despite the fact my understanding of american history is shallow at best. monuments are haunted and there's goofy trees that do fun things it's great

and there's sagan hawkes video on a creepy dinosaur game! i adored this one when i watched it, again a lot of effort has been put into it for the sake of the presentation and watching it without knowing it's unfiction is wild because it feels so fucking real even right up until the end. i long for a dinosaur game that doesn't exist. i long for many games that don't exist it turns out

also some rapid fire takes im also picking up from the top of my head: minecraft alpha 1.0.16 versions (mc unfiction that's still on-going i believe, there's ARG elements so an analysis video could be worth watching alongside it), diminish (another game that doesn't exist made by the player's dead sister, beware though the game is hard and the player is bad and the videos tend to be Long), myhouse.wad (linking a video exploring it since it's a doom mod, but there's a link to it in the description if you'd like to try it for yourself!), angel hare (lovingly animated christian children's show! but oops that angel is your guardian angel and is talking to you, specifically)

i would also recommend checking out night mind on youtube, he covers a lot of unfiction projects to bring more attention to them and many of them are ones that are quite new as well! he also runs the night mind index, a site with information on what unfiction is but more importantly it has a huge list of all sorts of unfiction projects that people have submitted to it that you can check out!

(i did make some unfiction myself too here on tumblr, i don't think that counts as a true recommendation lol but if you're curious the blog is mallardmonster and the first post is here!)

[thefiresontheheight]

1. The Roud Folk Song Index lists it as the 39th Child Ballad. Comparisons to be made to Type 425 in the Aarne-Thompson-Uther Index, under the entry “The Search for the Lost Husband.” TvTropes.com has more to say on the page titled “Shapeshifting Lover.” A story iterated upon in many forms. A young woman, almost always a woman, sometimes virginal, is wedded, or falls in love with, or is taken away by a man under some sort of curse. He is horse. Or a lindworm. Or a wolf. Sometimes only at night. Sometimes only when the fairies who cursed him make him so. He is a Beast, she must undo whatever evil makes him so, normally through a kiss, true love, wedding him, or, in some of the less sanitized versions, simply sex. 1. The first time they hooked up he cried afterwords, which she didn’t understand at the time. They were sophomores in college. It wasn’t her first time. It should have been casual. It was up until he cried in the morning. She felt so bad that she suggested they get breakfast together, when she had simply meant to leave. At breakfast he calmed, he talked about his life. Quiet, nerdy, hiding in his hoodie. There was something vulnerable there, and she liked it. She gave him her number after. 2. Later thinkers and writers have revisited this trope. Sometimes it is played straight, depicted on the screen by Disney. Sometimes this is (falsely I would argue) called Stockholm Syndrome. Sometimes this is, it must be said, simply used for purposes of sex and titillation. I think, however, that the continued persistence of this motif in media, it’s emotional resonance, demands further explication of its longevity. What about this appeals to us in the modern day, when we (ideally) can no longer ascribe to it a moral of young women being forced to accept arranged marriages? 2. They’re a few months into their time dating, after long arguments about that label, when the crying returns. This time no longer after sex, but she feels the emotion is the same. You should leave me, he says. Break up. You should do it now before I hurt you, he says. And she, not wanting to point out that she is bigger and stronger than he is, gently asks why he says something like that? In there time together he has been nothing if not careful. Thoughtful. Kind. One of the most soft and charming people she knows. He cannot explain it in any satisfying way. He simply insists that there is something dark inside him. Something he has sought to deny far too long, and will not be able to deny forever. That if she stays she will be hurt, simply as a function of loving him. He will one day lose the fight against himself. She does not know what to do but hold him. 3. I think some of the appeal of this trope can be found in reference to another motif of our pop cultural mythos. That of the werewolf. We are used to seeing werewolves depicted from the viewpoint of the hunted. But there is perpetually the question of what such a transformation looks like from the viewpoint of the animal itself. A human transforming into a beast demands of a human audience that we consider what it must be like to monster. To be capable of hurting those we love. And yet, I at least wonder, if we are capable of hurting those loved ones, do we not still hope that they will love us as we transform? As we become different, monstrous in shape and utterly unknown even to them? 3. They graduate. Together. Move into an apartment above a Taiwanese restaurant. She gets a shitty job that has health insurance for them both. He does commission from home. It’s not perfect. There is some part of him he never shares and she does her best to make peace with that. To accept that wherever his mind goes when he is watching her put on a dress, do her make up, whatever he ponders while watching the women passing by the street outside, or after they have sex, that is something he has chosen not to share. But instead they share popcorn. And bills. And shitty inside jokes. And that time they got accidentally drunk at his mothers remarriage to Craig (fucking Craig amiright?) and got found by the staff of the hotel whose ballroom she had rented, having passed out near the punch bowl. It’s a life. It’s their life. She tries to give him space within it. 4. Consider again the Ballad of Tam Lin. The idea of Janet in the woods, holding onto her lover as wicked fairies transform him. To something ice cold. To something burning hot. To a horrible slimed thing writhing in her embrace. To a snarling wolf-monster, a beast of wicked claws and gnashing teeth. Who has, at one time or another, when circumstances reveal that which we keep hidden, felt like that? 4. She gets home unexpectedly early one spring afternoon in her late twenties. Janet from accounting somehow set fire to a microwave, which set off the sprinklers, and no one could get anything done that day. A small treat, and it validates her admittedly flash-judgment of Janet. And as she unlocks the door, flowers in hand, she finds him in front of the closet they share, and understands the secret that has been kept from her for almost a decade. 5. And then of course, the tales and legends end. Normally in the curse being lifted, the lover being returned to normal. Beast is a beast no more, the Lindworm is again a prince, Tam Lin may leave the woods a man. A simple ending to a simple story. But for us living in reality? Outside of the tidy constraints of fiction? Perhaps there is no ending. Perhaps we remain a beast, remain a wolf, remain cursed, and monstrous and strange. Perhaps we endlessly transform into new, and more twisted shapes, and have only hope that our loves will hold us nonetheless. That even if we become something that may hurt them, something they may not understand, they will still love us. 5. It is hard. It would be nice to say there are not challenges. She always thought she was bi, but the label of straight was easy, and she never had to examine it when she was with him. She keeps on stealing her dresses. There are good times too. Times where she looks at this woman still becoming, someone she had loved for a decade and still barely knows, and sees how brightly she smiles, and feels so proud. But it is above all else hard. The crying does not go away. Estrogen works wonders, but cannot stop dysphoria, and hurt, and pain. It is hard to love her. But she is trying. And when the fights over labels and new boundaries and shifting emotions break out, or the dread comes, or the weeping, she does what she can. She holds her partner, no matter the form she takes.

[mythosofshadow]

Mythos Of Shadow: Prologue Index Below:

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CHAPTER 1: ???

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

is the green arrow’s curse a literal magical curse or like a burden ollie has to carry? also the whiplash I got from seeing Ollie doing cool bow things to having a stand slays me

Literal yes, magical no. It's connected to the Lantern mythos and Green-Yellow (or in this case, Gold) rivalry, represented on a civilization-wide level by the Xeen vs the Majistry. It's...mostly a fun other take, most of Ollie's career before he dies in pretty grounded other than Justice League adventures and Invaders from Earth-X holed up in the wilds of the Pacific Northwest trying to take Star City for its "High Stellarization Index" (per Amos Fortune)

[ranmagender]

Zine Ideas

Weirdness index

Mythos Exploration

Tales from the Forest of All Knowledge

Excerpts from books i'll never write

Characters That Need To Be In Smash

Reasons to hate The Mouse

Limewire Memories

Old memes from my youth

[owlbear33]

the Labyrinth Index was a fun if surreal romp, much better on the second read

I swear it's like 30% a joke about conservatives getting stuck on the word "Woke", Dread Cthulhu, lord of sleep indeed

Mhari as protag was interesting, I'm not sure I buy the romance, but that's possibly because I find Officer Friendly singularly unfuckable, I get that your love life is a bit of a train wreck Mhari but surely you can do better

but no she's fun workaholic imposter syndrome, with more than a touch of vampire-fueled self-hatred, cruising towards burnout, but only if the god she works for doesn't kill her first

Jon aka Yarisol is 100% the best character, I love her so much, so so much, she's great

yeah I'm not sure I have any more to say right now, it was good

and alas I have no more of these to read, I'll have to pick up the new management books, or return to Yokai Island at some point, never mind that one about the laundry trying to sacrifice the queen, that's not out yet, but I'm not sure when

I'll have to find something else to read in the meantime, I'm not sure what, I don't have any other more modern Lovecraft mythos stuff

[thedurvin]

Check it out, a full text of Richard Shaver and Ray Palmer's "I Remember Lemuria!", the seminal document of the Shaver Mystery. This was a major thing in mid-century nerd culture where in 1945 the prominent sci-fi magazine Amazing Stories started printing stories by a conspiracy theorist that he and the editor claimed were completely true, stories about secret ancient languages, evil subterranean dwarves using flying saucers to kidnap people for meat, and horny giant women with extra arms and heads. It fell out of interest once conspiracy theorists and gullible weirdos started focusing on aliens, but it held on long enough for the guys making D&D's Monster Manual II to base the Derros on Shaver's Deros (short for Detrimental Robots, not actual robots, just dwarves so sadistic they had no emotions), and I'm kinda surprised it never got merged into the Cthulhu Mythos in popular culture.

[bubbleteycosplay]

What if Sigyn's stories

Part 24

So many different universes, so many different possibilities. And in some loves Sigyn and their different stories. Pictures and brief information have been written about some of these possibilities.But what is her full story, we don't know. But we can spin them further in our thoughts ^^

The whole project here serves to show the possibilities and potential that Sigyn would have had within the Marvel Universe. How she could have been reintroduced, her story made new and more exciting. #JusticeForSigyn stands for creating Sigyn content because Marvel doesn't give us any.

Inspired by @fauna-and-mythos @dailylogyn @dank-art @jonquilclegane @sigynthevictorious @thewitchysystem @shenanigans-and-imagines @sigynoffidelity @timeladyjamie @therese-lokidottir @puckwritesstuff @sigynappreciation @sigyn-obsessed @ellecaterina @roruna @sigyndottir @marvelentertainment @mistress-of-words

Queen of destiny

After the blood magic has destroyed Sigyn's entire life, she too sits on the throne as Queen of Vanaheim while Jotunheim declares war on her. She is determined to save her people and stop Jotunheim from taking the cities of Atlantia and Solis. But the fight against Jotunheim is just the beginning: Ancient powers have awakened in the shadows, bringing with them the horrors of times long past. Now the hour has come when Sigyn must accept her destiny and fulfill the prophecy. And she has to use her blood magic, but with that her secret is no longer safe either.

The witch's curse story by @roruna

Sigyn sat alone in her chambers. She hadn't left in days. At first, she was despondent, racking her brain for a way to get him back. But the sadness gradually reshaped itself into rage. Now she daydreamed of revenge, to get him back.

She arranged candles in a circle on her floor and sat down in the center of the circle. All the candles lit themselves at once by magic. Her heart was pounding hard and her whole body was shaking. Fresh tears grew in her eyes. She wiped them away with her index finger.

"Essence of fire, burn his skin and melt his form. Essence of air, spin him round so he loses his way, abandon him when he needs to breathe. Essence of earth, break his bones, bury him deep. Essence of water, become his tears," she said, writing the name on the floor with her wet finger.

Loki.

It wasn't a proper curse. Freya, the Vanir goddess of magic and Sigyn's mother, had taught her dozens of spells and curses. This wasn't in any of the spell books she'd read. The candles were just ordinary wax things with essential oils added so they'd fill the room with a pleasant fragrance when they burned. The air smelled of roses, vanilla, lavender and honeysuckle.

She didn't draw any runes. She didn't use any of her reserves of magic energy. She didn't even use any seidr to make his name glow dramatically on the floor. But she was crying when she lit the candles. She was crying as she spoke the words. And she was crying as she wrote his name in the circle with her tears. Intent and focus are what's important when casting spells.

Her body felt drained when put the candles out and stepped out of the circle. She wiped her face and she dropped into a dreamless sleep when her head touched the pillow. Just outside her chambers, servants were bustling about preparing Asgard's palace for Thor's coronation.

The child of a thousand wonders

Sigyn returns to Asgard from Nidavellir. She is to study and live in a school for magic until her mother returns from Feuerrisen Krigen and has clarified all matters there. Meanwhile, Sara's father dies under tragic circumstances.

He dies and leaves behind her, her sisters and mother. Sigyn only survives the difficult times because she has so much imagination and imagines what it will be like when her life is back on track. What she doesn't know is that she has an unknown friend who will help her and stand by her to make her happy again.

Sigyn goddess of forbidden love by @jonquilclegane

Once upon a time in the realm of Asgard, Sigyn was not just an ordinary maiden, but a valiant Valkyrie. She possessed grace, strength, and a heart filled with compassion. Sigyn had dedicated her life to the honorable duty of guiding fallen warriors to their rightful place in Valhalla.

However, fate had a different plan for Sigyn. Unbeknownst to her fellow Valkyries, she had fallen deeply in love with Loki, the mischievous god of trickery. Their hearts intertwined in secrecy, for such love was forbidden, as Loki's actions had often caused chaos and strife among the realms.

Sigyn's love for Loki was a bittersweet torment, for she was torn between her devotion to her duty as a Valkyrie and the longing in her heart. She would watch him from a distance, her heart aching, as he played his tricks and schemes, always keeping her true feelings hidden away.

One day, as Sigyn ventured through the realms, she came across a group of fallen warriors who had perished in a battle. Her duty compelled her to gather them and lead them to Valhalla. As she approached the fallen, she noticed among them a wounded warrior, his armor tarnished and his spirit weakened. To her surprise, it was Loki himself, wounded and vulnerable.

The conflict within Sigyn reached its zenith. Her love for Loki and her duty as a Valkyrie clashed with equal force. Her fellow Valkyries watched as she stood there, torn between her heart's desire and her responsibility.

In that moment, Sigyn made a decision that would change her fate and the fate of Loki forever. She dropped her spear, a symbol of her duty, and knelt beside Loki. She cradled his battered form in her arms, ignoring the gasps of her fellow Valkyries. With each touch, her love for him grew stronger, and a wave of compassion washed over her.

Sigyn looked into Loki's weary eyes and spoke words that resonated with love and determination. "No longer will I deny my heart, Loki. I am ready to face the consequences of our forbidden love. For love knows no boundaries and can transform even the most mischievous soul."

As the Valkyries watched in astonishment, Sigyn, the Valkyrie who had forsaken her duty, rose with Loki in her arms and vanished into the unknown. The realm of Asgard fell into a state of bewilderment, for a Valkyrie had chosen love over her sacred oath.

In the realms beyond, Sigyn and Loki created a life of their own, where their love blossomed, unfettered by the laws of the gods. Their journey was not without challenges, but together they faced them with unwavering devotion.

Though Sigyn had forsaken her position as a Valkyrie, her heart remained filled with compassion. She used her newfound freedom to bring solace to those in need, offering aid and redemption to lost souls who had strayed from the path of righteousness.

The gods of Asgard, witnessing the purity and strength of Sigyn's love, reconsidered their judgments. Slowly, they began to understand that love could heal even the most broken of spirits. The forbidden love between Sigyn and Loki became a tale whispered among the gods, a reminder that the power of love could transcend all boundaries.

And so, Sigyn, once a Valkyrie bound by duty, became a symbol of love's triumph over adversity. Her story would echo through the ages, inspiring others to follow their hearts, even in the face of the greatest challenges.

Don't forget love

Young Loki, an adopted son of Odin, of unknown origin and the highest magic in Asgard, receives a dangerous assignment: he and his brother Thor are to free prisoners of war from captivity on Midgard in Garda. While fleeing, he falls in love with the women of Sigyn the freed, but she is already married. Nevertheless, over the years he becomes the confidant of the young woman and wins victories over victories with Tho. And the blemish of his birth is finally revealed. Whereupon Loki leaves Asgard. But Sigyn has to realize with horror that her most dangerous enemy is far from defeated, and when she and her husband leave for Asgard for Thor's coronation, both are attacked and her husband is murdered, but that's not all, this fate will have fruitful consequences...

All good and bad things come in threes

There are days that turn your entire life upside down. Do you know days like that? Even those days when you lose your job in the morning and own a magical bookshop in Ireland at night?

No?

Well, I didn't know that either.

What I learned today:

1. I am not a human, I am a goddess and no one knows what else I am.

2.I have magic, but I have no idea how it works.

3.I'm in danger, have a husband I never knew about and only the bookshop in Ireland can protect me.

This is Rose's (Sigyn) new life and this Odinson who's supposed to be her husband doesn't make it any easier for her either.

TVA File 775

The TVA is in a state of emergency and a group of Agents and Hunters are tasked with reopening an old case, TVA File 775 codenamed "Ferguson". You set to work with mixed feelings and even return to the scene of the action, the island whose rugged beauty still amazes you, but where Hunter S-16 spent a difficult childhood. Which she doesn't remember, she doesn't remember her life before the TVA at all. And the game begins and nobody's life is safe anymore!

The broken promise

Loki: You give every one of your belongings to even the lowest scum or upstart

Sigyn: Everyone should be heard and understood

Loki: Understood, these are Sigyn low beings. They should not be understood but mastered

Sigyn: That's exactly why many fear you, because the way you think about them makes you unpredictable

Loki: You're talking about everyone should have a say

Sigyn: What's so bad about showing them is so bad about showing them respect for your opinions and ideas?

Loki: Enough of this discussion, you are my wife and you have to stand behind me in the first place behind all my decisions!

Sigyn: I stand behind you, but I'm not your puppet

The girl at the end of time by @jonquilclegane

In the wake of Ragnarok, the cataclysmic event that brought an end to the known universe, Sigyn found herself standing alone amidst the vast emptiness of the void. As the girl at the end of time, she witnessed the devastation that had consumed everything she had ever known. Her heart was heavy with grief and the weight of her solitude.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and Sigyn wandered through the desolate remains, searching for signs of life. But the universe seemed devoid of hope, with no trace of any other survivors. She felt the weight of the loss, mourning the fallen gods and mortals who had once inhabited the vibrant realms.

As Sigyn reached the point of despair, contemplating her existence as the solitary being at the edge of nothingness, a glimmer of light caught her attention. In the darkest corner of the void, she discovered a group of individuals huddled together, clinging to the remnants of their shattered existence.

Hope ignited within Sigyn's heart as she approached the survivors. They were a diverse group, representing different species and civilizations from across the cosmos. Their eyes held a mix of relief, wonder, and exhaustion as they saw Sigyn, the girl who had emerged unscathed from the ruins of Ragnarok.

Among the survivors, Sigyn discovered a wise elder who held the knowledge of an ancient prophecy—one that spoke of a way to restart the universe, a chance to restore life and begin anew. Though the task seemed daunting, Sigyn knew that she had been chosen for a purpose beyond her comprehension.

Gathering the remaining survivors, Sigyn shared the prophecy with them, filling their hearts with renewed hope. Together, they embarked on a perilous journey, traversing the remnants of the shattered cosmos, seeking the pieces required to restart creation.

Through trials and tribulations, the group faced countless obstacles, but their determination was unwavering. Sigyn's love for the fallen gods and mortals fueled her resolve, and she became a guiding light for the survivors, encouraging them to press onward.

At the culmination of their quest, they assembled the shattered fragments, a mosaic of cosmic energy. Sigyn stepped forward, the catalyst of their endeavor, and with a single touch, she ignited the dormant energy, sending ripples of life through the void.

A burst of vibrant light enveloped the cosmos, spreading like a celestial wave, awakening the slumbering universe from its lifeless state. Stars ignited, galaxies spiraled into motion, and planets began to form. Life bloomed once more, breathing fresh energy into the tapestry of existence.

The survivors, awestruck and filled with gratitude, witnessed the rebirth of a universe they had believed lost forever. They celebrated their triumph, vowing to honor the fallen by cherishing the newfound life granted to them.

Sigyn, once the girl at the end of time, had become the harbinger of renewal. With her unwavering love and the strength of the survivors by her side, she had rewritten destiny, restoring hope and the promise of a brighter future.

Together, they set forth to build a universe where love, compassion, and harmony thrived. And as they shaped their new reality, the echoes of the fallen reverberated within their hearts, a reminder of the resilience of life and the enduring power of unity.

A relative conquest (AU)

The free-spirited Sigyn is on fire. Finally women are admitted to the university, she could study! Her parents, on the other hand, want to marry her off to young Theoric. Theoric loves the world of fragrances. He experiments with flavors and scents. He dreams of making perfumes in his own factory. Sigyn is enthusiastic and supports him against all odds. Energetically and skilfully she drives the founding of the company forward. But what about their own goals? Are her feelings strong enough for marriage? Because there's Loki, Theoric's friend. He threatens to drive a wedge between the couple. And that too, because if there's one thing Loki doesn't need in his life at all, it's a second wife.

Part 25 is in progress ^^

Here you can find the last part

[nat-seal-well]

Guess who finally read the script on the Index because they still can’t ever understand what Vega says

(more spoilers for 1/24)

Oh so Vega’s audio had worldbuilding and mythos. Okay. Nice.

My favorite thing about the fantasy genre is worldbuilding—not just the magic systems and the cultures, but also the mythology authors create for their universes. I got into fantasy because of it. Vega’s audio was hella cool? Like yes, please keep throwing names at me that I don’t know. I love it.

[cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness]

Thank you to @borealwrites for creating the Monster March prompt list, it was a lot of fun to participate and get to write more horror. This is a fill for day 10’s prompt, "Chthonic/Eldritch Abomination".

Geraskier victorian gothic romance with different first meeting. TW for Body Horror, Lovecraft, Cthulhu Mythos, angst and tragedy

Read on AO3

The front door of the mansion creaked loudly in the relative peace of the night. Geralt carefully stepped into the vestibule, silver sword in hand. The little moonlight filtering through the dirty windows highlighted the cobwebs and the layer of dust covering the statues, the paintings and the massive brass-framed mirror. The rug, once a luxurious burgundy, was moth-eaten and littered with vermin poop. 

The door closed of its own whim behind him, the bang shaking his bones.

The Cat potion quickly took effect and his eyes adjusted to the dark. Three doors were connected to the vestibule. Geralt pushed the set of double doors that he knew would give to the central hall. He'd looked up the floor plans of the mansion beforehand to get an idea of what he was getting himself into, but now all he remembered was there was over a hundred rooms, and those plans didn’t include the secret passages and hidden rooms, which Geralt was sure this mansion was full of.

The central hall featured two staircases that led all the way up to the second floor. It was in the same sorry state than the vestibule, with the railing broken in multiple places, like something had fallen through. Geralt paused and listened intently.

Nothing.

This mansion was huge, and yet it wasn't creaking or groaning, no wind and no birds croaking outside. Nothing.

His medallion wasn't thrumming, yet the heavy air around him seemed to be breathing alongside him. He retrieved one of his devices from his satchel and turned it on. It hummed to life in his hand, the sonar like display starting to scan his surrounding. It'd beep to alert him if anything was detected, so he clipped it to his belt and continued forward.

Adjacent to the hall was a salon leading to a dome shaped two-storey ballroom. A few windows were broken, dead leaves crunching under his boots as he turned on himself to take in the big room. There was a pianoforte installed on the side to entertain the guests. The lid was propped up and, when Geralt approached to investigate, he noticed dark smears on the keyboard. He swiped some of it with his gloved index and smeared it with his thumb. It was like wet mucus, slimy and smelly. Some of it was also on the bench and on the floor.

He heard the faint splash of liquid hitting the floor behind him before his device beeped, and he turned around. Something was dripping from the balcony above him. He looked up. There was a shape darker than the shadows up there. He blinked and it was gone. No footsteps, but the air turned ice cold around him for a moment.

He was returning to the central hall to go to the second floor when he heard knocking coming from the kitchen area in the east wing. His device was still beeping in the direction of the balcony, but another bar appeared in the direction of the kitchen. Multiple entities, then. Geralt was glad he charged an hourly wage.

The foul stench of rot hit his nose when he reached the kitchen. It wasn't just rotten food. More noise came from the storage, and he quickly found the reason. A pair of rotfiends were playing with their food in it. He sent an Igni their way and quickly closed the door to protect himself from their explosion. He caught a movement from the corner of his eye as he did so, and when he did, who he assumed to be the same shadow from before was at the end of the corridor. He narrowed his eyes to see better but couldn't discern any particular shape in the shadow. It vanished through the wall before he could approach.

One thing at a time. He reopened the door and noticed another staircase leading down to the basement. The presence of rotfiends potentially meant corpses somewhere and he suspected the monsters had wandered from down below. He went downstairs.

The storage had more rotfiends he quickly took care of. He found a corpse tucked in a corner, almost completely eaten. He took a mental note to come back afterwards and retrieve it to give it a proper burial and ensure it wouldn't attract more monsters. Given the general macabre atmosphere of the mansion, he was sure it wouldn't be the only corpse he'd find tonight.

The trail of rotfiends led him to the root cellar next to the meat kitchen that hadn't been cleaned since its last use. One of the cabinets was smashed to the ground, revealing a passage in the stone wall. He walked in a grotto with turned soil and more rotfiends. The smell of death and decay was telling enough, dirt tombs still fresh. One of the corpses hadn’t been buried, facing him in a mimic of a sleeping pose. It might’ve been convincing if it hadn’t been for the milk white glaze of her pale eyes, her nightgown torn and partially soaked in coagulated blood.

Rich families always took things to the extreme out of boredom, didn't they? There was circulating rumours about the mansion, many of which Geralt was aware of. Old families carried a heavy history, and the Pankratz were no different. Their roots ran deep into the earth, so deep that along the way, one of them discovered an otherworldly species and mated with them. It was said the current generation of Pankratz were hybrids, not fully human, possessing abilities of the beyond. They were worshippers of the evil and rare were the ones who got to live long.

He had been an hour in here and he hadn't even made it through a complete floor yet, and he had five to go through. He was fairly sure he'd taken care of the rotfiends at least, and if not they'd be strays like the first ones he had encountered. What he wondered was why there was so many dead people down here. Sacrifices or victims? A narrow corridor led him to a nondescript door, not as decorated or fancy as the other ones he'd seen in here so far. He emerged on the other side in the back of a place of worship, some chapel he concluded after a quick glance. Whatever deity had been worshiped here was long gone. The place was is total disarray. Twin stone statues, once guarding each side of the altar, were laying in pieces through the broken wooden benches, destroyed beyond recognition. The paintings had been slashed with something blunt, the destruction brutal rather than precise. Someone here was angry.

The device at his belt beeped. A gust of cold wind disturbed his hair and raised goosebumps on his neck, making him turn around. The same shadow presence, taller than before. It extended even further, reaching the high ceiling like it was trying to intimidate him. Or readying itself to pounce, he realised at the same time the shadow bent and transformed into a large tendril as it dove for him. He crossed his wrists in front of him to sign Heliotrop right as it tried to pierce through him. The impact sent him backwards and he crashed into the altar.

Barely recovered, he was reaching for one of his bombs and throwing it at the shadow. The explosion didn't injure it as much as it forced it to remain corporal. He pushed himself to his feet and raised his sword in a wide arc as he dove forward, slashing through its middle before it could get away. With a wail that shook the ground, the shadow was split in half to reveal more goo-like shadow, but in it was an eye. No, not just one, but two, and then a forehead, a nose, a face slowly emerged from the gap. The face had no mouth but the blue eyes were screaming.

"What the fuck?" Geralt had been scrambling his mind for a monster that described what he was saying, but he was coming up short. He had no clue what he was dealing with. He hesitated, not sure of the nature of the human in the shadow. Were they trapped or controlling it?

The shadow was starting to reform again. The person had managed to extract their fingers from it, then their whole hand. It was reaching for Geralt.

What the hell was he getting himself into again? He thought, but he was already moving. He reached for the hand to try and help. Only the hand was much too powerful, and he was yanked into the darkness.

He woke up with a gasp. The sun was hitting his face, yet he didn't feel its warmth. He did a quick inspection of himself. He wasn't injured, he still had his swords, but he had no clue where he was. No, that wasn't true. He was back in the central hall, only it didn't seem like the same room. Everything was clean with no dust in sight. The creepy vibe was still present, with the portraits of men looking down at him as he got to his feet.

The most disconcerting was he couldn't smell anything. He couldn't even smell himself. The staircase rail, when he touched it, was solid.

He could still hear though. His activity detector was beeping alarmingly, the screen displaying red all over, so he turned it off. With it quieted down, he picked up something else. Somewhere up there, someone was singing and playing a string instrument.

" Because love does not exist here, in this garden, there's no feeling, and you say the words so often that I barely know the meaning."

On the second floor, the rug was a deep purple instead of the rotten mouldy mess he'd been half expecting. It padded Geralt's footsteps as he followed the sound through the long corridor of the west wing. Some of the doors were slightly ajar, but most of them were closed and Geralt didn't venture away from his destination.

" And when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot, I'll scream, but you won't hear, " forget me not "."

He walked into a sunny music room, various instruments stored inside glass display cabinets except for the bigger ones. Geralt recognised a grand piano, similar to the one that was in the ballroom, and a cello, but most of them were unknown to him. It was a well-maintained collection, reminding him of his own collection of weapons.

A man was sitting in a plush chair in front of one of the bay windows, looking lost in thought. His fingers were expertly plucking the strings of the lute sitting on his lap.  He didn't seem aware his hands were bloodied and painting his instrument in red. He'd been playing for a long, long time. 

" And in years to come you'll wander to the place up on our hill. " He had a lovely voice.

The man didn't acknowledge Geralt's presence and he continued to play his lute. Geralt examined the music room from closer, noting how the colours of this room seemed so vibrant compared to the other ones he'd seen in this dimension. It was his safe room, where usually his problems seemed a little easier. Only something was eating at him, nibbling him raw from the inside.

Geralt remembered the look in his eyes, the way he'd grabbed him in a last desperate attempt to seek help. Or perhaps it had been a reflection of pale hope in the blue despair. He had to find the source of it all to help him. He reached with a gloved hand and strummed the bloodied strings.

The man gasped and looked up at him. "What—"

A shadowed form fell on the window at his back and shattered it, sending glass everywhere. It pulled the man in its grasp and pulled him through the window and into the void below. Geralt looked down, but couldn't see anything. He cursed and followed, ignoring the sting of the glass shards embedded in his face.

He landed into a roll to cushion his fall, crushing flowers underneath him. He was in one of the inner courtyards, dusk plunging the flower garden into an eerie golden stillness. He flicked off the leaf stuck in his hair.

He looked around and saw the same man sitting on a wooden bench near him. His hands were pressed to his face, his form hunched over. Geralt could hear his quiet sobs even as he approached. He sat beside him. He looked unkept, his hair greasy and clothing wrinkled, fingernails dirty. Much different than the first picture of the elegant artist.

"I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, "it's all my fault."

"What is?" Geralt asked more for himself than the man, but was surprised to see him startle. He removed his hands from his face and his cheeks were streaked with tears black as ink, his blue eyes swimming in darkness. He blinked and the ink slid further down and dripped on his white shirt.

"Who are you?" He hiccuped and wiped his hands on his trousers, but made no attempt at cleaning his face.

"My name is Geralt, I'm a witcher. I was sent to investigate the Pankratz Mansion."

"I'm Jaskier, the unfortunate owner." He sniffed and cleared his throat, his wet lashes sticking together. Geralt searched through his satchel for a fresh bandage and began to clean his tears, leaving his cheeks red. "Thank you."

Geralt offered him the bandage and he wiped his eyes, balling the soiled cloth in his fist afterwards.

"This alternate place, did you do it?"

"No. Well, yes. It's complicated."

"So it seems."

Jaskier had a joyless smile. "I fucked up, is what I did." His chin trembled, but he took a deep breath and regained his composure. "Let me show you."

Geralt noticed the shift from dusk to night, the moon shining bright in the dark sky. No, that wasn't the moon, he realised. There was an eye up there. More than one in fact, for what he assumed to be stars were in fact a myriad of eyes in various sizes and colours. They were looking down at them.

There was a burst of wind beside him, and Jaskier was gone from his seat. He'd simply vanished. Geralt got to his feet, looking around in alarm, when a smell hit him for the first time in this alternate, dream world. Earthy, mouldy scent of decay; sour stench of fear and herbal sweet smell of the monster. Geralt followed it back through the door leading to what he remembered to be the central hall, but instead he stepped in a bedroom. The smell was overwhelming in the stuffy air.

A girl was bedridden. She was young, or at least looked young to Geralt, lost in this giant bed. Her long blonde hair was soaked with sweat and sticking to her feverish forehead. Her complexion was ashy, large bloodshot blue eyes underlined with dark bags. A smudge of red clang to her mouth.

Jaskier, who was knelt by the bed, gently took her hand between his, kissed her knuckles. "Have you ever loved someone, Geralt, so much so that you wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice your life to save theirs?"

Geralt thought of Ciri, of his brothers, and he said, "Yes."

"Love comes with a price. I failed to identify my blindspot as I knelt here, watching my friend slowly being consumed by Death. All the promises I made as a child, refusing to fall in my parents' footsteps, I forgot them. None of it mattered anymore." Jaskier raised his head to look at Geralt. "She was dying and I knew how to stop it."

They weren't in a bedroom anymore. They were back in the chapel in the midst of its glory. The place was pristine, and the statues, grotesque to look at. They depicted deities that were meant to be long forgotten, cosmic gods born from fears and that responded to no one's bidding but to their own. If they did, there was always a price to pay, a sacrifice to be made. 

Geralt could easily see the picture now.

Jaskier's friend was laying on the stone altar, only wearing a mint nightgown. To Geralt, she looked more like an offering than someone to be saved. Jaskier was in front of the altar, holding up an old book that radiated Chaos. He was calling out to a deity, speaking an alien language. The candles' flames in the chapel violently flickered for a moment. The next, they were throwing distorted shadows of invisible beings, walking between time and space. Geralt's discomfort grew as he could do nothing but watch the disaster unfold.

"I have called you by your True Name, Old One, and I command you to do my bidding," Jaskier finished his incantation, his breathing ragged. "Save Essi Daven."

The statues began to weep, the numerous sculpted eyes suddenly alive and moving in their sockets. Essi started to thrash on the altar, her weak arms flailing and almost hitting Jaskier in the face. She screamed, the sound ending in a wet gurgle as blood dribbled from her mouth. Her torso cracked with a dull sound, the bones giving under some otherworldly pressure.

"No, this isn't what I bid you to do," Jaskier sobbed. "I commanded you to save her life, you're killing her!"

"No." The voices echoed loudly in the church. Silence, save for Jaskier's trembling breath. "Her mortal vessel has no meaning, for she is to forever live in us."

"To what purpose, if I'm unable to cherish her presence?" Jaskier said, his heart dying with every word.

"We shall free you as well."

Geralt turned his head away, unable to withstand the sight, but the sounds and the screams were impossible to muffle.

"Enough. I've seen enough," he said, and the sounds stopped. The world pitched sideways and he found himself back in the decayed chapel of the present; a silent witness of the many horrors executed in it.

The shadow, the one that had been haunting him since he stepped foot in the mansion, hovered once more in front of him. It didn't attack him, and Geralt knew why. Instead it fell backwards, through the floor, only to leave a physical body in its place. 

Geralt rushed to it, uncertain of what he was seeing. It was Jaskier, but instead of the humanoid appearance he'd seen him with in the other world, this one was sporting an extra leg and arm. His grey skin was rippled in places and stretched taunt in others, and naked as he was, Geralt found himself following the dark roads of veins easily visible underneath down his neck and across his breastbone before they disappeared under his chest hair.

"Jaskier?" Geralt pushed back his hair from his face. Something was moving under his eyelids. Jaskier opened his eyes and black tendrils scurried away, back into his head. He didn't seem to notice, focusing on the witcher instead.

"I thought I'd made you up," he softly said. He shifted with a groan and Geralt helped him up. He tripped over his additional leg and almost fell face first, but Geralt caught him in the nick of time.

"Easy. You've a bit more to work with now."

"I do." He let out a shuddering breath and took refuge in Geralt's arms, clinging to him. He was trembling, Geralt realised. He tucked him closer and led him out of the chapel and upstairs. It must've been late afternoon, judging by the red hue of the sunlight beaming through the giant windows in the main hall.

"Let's get you dressed first, mm?"

Jaskier sniffed and nodded, his extra hand curled in one of the belts crossing his chest. His walk was stiff, both from disuse and from getting used to a whole new leg. They made their way upstairs and to an unfamiliar bedroom, different than the one Geralt had seen. This one reminded him of the music room with a lute on a lounge chair and music sheets stacked on the coffee table next to it. The bed was unmade, the covers stained with black splotches of ink.

Geralt found clothes in the wardrobe and, instead of choosing for Jaskier, brought the whole lot on the bed. A bundle of frills, laces and silks. They had to make holes in the pretty fabric to fit the third limb, but soon Jaskier was decent. Geralt observed him as he dressed, getting familiar with the beat of his heart, slower than humans', and his scent that carried that same herbal sweet smell he'd already picked up on.

"For what seemed like eternity, I drifted in this mansion, barely aware of my own existence. Then you came along and brought me back to consciousness. I don't understand how, but I don't think I have enough words to express my gratitude. Which is a feat, coming from a poet."

Geralt huffed and crouched in front of him instead of trying to find a seat through all those frills and silks.

 "You already knew how to come to yourself, I was but the trigger you needed to realise it. Your family, how much do you know about them?"

Jaskier worked his bottom lip, his expression darkening. “Too much. My parents weren’t good people, sought to use our soiled bloodline for dark purposes, but I refused to continue their bidding. My only attempt at exploiting my birthright served no purpose but to shed me of my humanity.”

“Your action, even if negative in hindsight, was rightfully justified. Love has many faces, it is beautiful just as it taints everything it touches. Forgive yourself for acting under its influence.”

Geralt patted his knee awkwardly. Comforting others had never been his strength. He was surprised when Jaskier leaned closer to press a kiss against his cheek, uncaring of the dried blood.

"Thank you,” Jaskier said, his voice small but sincere. Geralt nodded and got back on his feet to give Jaskier time to regain composure, a nervous flutter growing under his own ribs. “What happens now?" 

"You need the help of magical experts who can understand your new self, which I’m not."

"No, you kill monsters… Why haven't you put that silver sword through me then?"

Geralt titled his head as he regarded him. “I kill monsters that are violent and wilfully kill people. As far as I’ve seen, you are neither.”

“I thank you for your faith in me, but there’s no telling I won’t become one of those. I don’t know what I’ve turned into.”

“Then we’ll find out together. For now, I still have a mansion to clear. Will its owner accompany me and show me more of its secrets?” That way, he could also observe him. To make sure he’d adapt well to his new body, of course. Nothing but pure professionalism on his part.

Jaskier smiled and followed him out of his bedroom. “You’re in for the best tour then. Have you visited the attic yet? There’s many interesting rooms to be discovered.”

[astramthetaprime]

The Story Tarot

Okay so I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, and in an effort to escape my current life situation this seems like a good night to do this and not think about the impending doom for a couple hours.  So here goes.

In accordance with the Standard Rules for Science-Fiction Writing, when asked ‘where do you get your ideas’, the Standard Answer is ‘a post office box in Poughkeepsie”.  This Standard Answer was used even by Isaac Asimov himself.  I have, on occasion, used it myself.  But now I will share with you what method I actually use.  

This method can be done without needing to use cards, you could do this simply by listing the various items on a numbered list and either using a random number generator online or using dice to determine which items to use.  I have found actual cards to be helpful in that one can lay them out, move them around, and have them all laid out in relation to each other.  It’s more tangible, y’know?  

You will need:  

A deck of blank cards of some type.  Index cards can be used, but you can also find blank playing cards on Amazon.  

A Sharpie.  

A box or other container to keep them in.

A scratchpad and pen.

For Science-Fiction, you will also need this website, Speculative Fiction Tropes

(There’s also other trope lists on the Genre Tropes section of the same website if you’re wanting romance, adventure, etc.)

I started out with these tropes but later removed a lot of them from my deck and replaced them with other things such as “gray goo”, “alien abduction”, “wandering planet” and other more scientifically based things.  You can add elements from other genres -- romance tropes, ancient history tropes, horror tropes, whatever suits your fancy.

Break out your cards and your Sharpie and start writing the tropes one per card.

Once done, gather them up, shuffle several times, and start dealing out cards.  My usual method here is to deal out 5 cards, then spread them out and sit with them to see if anything sparks interest.  If a card or two just doesn’t work for you, deal two more and put the first two back in the deck.  Keep doing this, thinking and dealing out cards, moving them around to relate them one to each other.  You might start with 3 cards or 10, or any number that seems good to you.  What you’re looking for here is ideas, not sticking to a method.  Does anything stand out that you feel needs to be the centerpiece of a plot?  Are any of them something the antagonist might use as a weapon, or as their secret weakness, or as the one thing that scares the protagonist beyond all reason?  

Whatever you find in the cards, write down your final card list and notes on your ideas on your trusty scratchpad.  You can either set it aside in an “ideas” file or use it straightaway, either way you’ve got it salted away for future use.

As stated above, if you don’t have the means to get blank playing cards or blank index cards, you can always just do them as a numbered list and either use dice or a random number generator to choose your prospective idea chunks.  Maybe write them on post-it notes so you can move them around as you would with cards, or just copy them into a text file and move around as and when needed. 

Anyway, that’s the Story Tarot.  It can be as elaborate or as simple as you want.  I’m still using a subset of my original hand-written cards, I narrowed mine down to a deck that’s only slightly more than a standard deck of playing cards.  But I can add new cards at any time since I still have two or three sets of blank cards in reserve.  The deck I have now includes astronomical phenomena, futurist concepts, space technologies, cyberpunk tropes, and character actions.  But you can do a deck with Wild West, Age of Sail, Cthulhu Mythos and Indian Mythology if that’s the stuff that you want to write.  The Tarot is infinitely adaptable and can change with your tastes and interests.  

Have fun!  Let me know if you find this useful!  And thanks for listening!

[secondflame-archive]

There would be a soft 'caw' and a 'cluck' that would come from the window. One of the crows that had been circling Mythos perches on a sill. Huginn, ever the curious one, would tilt is head at Clive, ruffling its feathers. (time for some head scratches uvu)

A flutter of wings followed by a soft if slightly roughened bird call catches his attention. Clive raises his head, wincing as his neck and shoulders feels stiff from having sat hunched over some letters for the past hour or so.

"It's you again." Clive says quietly and then chuckles when the bird hops off the windowsill and onto his desk nigh immediately upon being acknowledged. He watches it make its way closer to him with little jumps, knowing that it is perfectly capable of walking, but rather chooses to show its joy in this way.

The ravens' presence has become somewhat of a usual thing these past weeks. It is usually the same one approaching him, though, and by now it dares to stray closer and even let him touch it on occasion instead of just lingering on the windowsill as it did in the beginning.

Jill and Joshua wisely cautioned him against letting any of the birds inside, even went as far as suggesting he keep the windows closed entirely ever since they learned the ravens that sometimes followed them were affiliated with the king of Waloed.

Clive knows they are right of course, and yet he still finds himself smiling at the bird as it curiously blinks up at him from the table, softly cawing at him. Affiliations set aside, it is a bird; a little eerie looking at times with the bright pupilless blue of its eyes, but then strictly speaking so are the Stolas and he never feared them either.

He does still shift the letters aside, turning them over as the bird has no business glimpsing any of the contents, no matter how harmless he thinks it. He isn't sure of how exactly the ravens are connected to Barnabas or Odin, if it is thought or spoken word they can convey to him, but Clive won't make it easy for it to tell its master anything of value in any case.

"So, what are you here for?" He asks. "I don't have any food for you this time."

Yes, maybe he has gotten into the habit of feeding the bird whenever it shows up, but only because he felt weird being watched one evening while having supper on his own and giving it a bit of bread and a few nuts had kept it preoccupied long enough for him to finish in peace.

But it seems it doesn't matter that he is all out of snacks this time, for when he reaches out a hand the bird inches closer and he only has to crook his finger to gently scratch its little head, feathers soft under his ungloved fingertip.

"Just some affection then?" He carefully keeps the touches up while saying so, moving his index finger below the beak and along its neck until eventually bringing the scratches back around and down the raven's back, watching in amusement as it fluffs its feathers up further. "I suppose your master can't provide you with many gentle touches when he's always sending you after me, huh?"

He huffs out a laugh when the bird shifts closer, chasing his hand as he starts to pull away. "Fine then, I can spare a few minutes."

[hplovecraftmuseum]

An interesting publication that originally appeared in hardcover, copyright 2012 by John D. Haefele. The revised paperback edition of 2014 is still available. Published by The Cimmerian Press. 508 pages with an excellent index. This book investigates how the 'CTHULHU MYTHOS' as many understand it today came into being. Despite this study's detail the whole phenomenon became in reality a complete 'cluster disaster'! It's obvious from Lovecraft's letters that he was not particularly impressed with Derleth as a horror/fantasy writer. Lovecraft saw High Art in some of the things Derleth wrote outside the supernatural fiction field, but he also rightly gauged Derleth's qualities as a shrewd businessman. It should be understood that the problem with Derleth's aggressive grab for control of Lovecraft's legacy was born out of his false promotion of the idea that he and Lovecraft were very tight in life - tighter perhaps than Lovecraft had been with anyone else. (In reality the two men NEVER met!) Derleth used that fantasy to gain and maintain power. Ultimately the only harm that was done in all this was that Derleth's machinations confused things for decades. For anyone wishing to study Lovecraft himself as a literary figure and artist the task was filled with pitfalls. Anyone who seeks a greater understanding of H. P. Lovecraft and Lovecraft alone, has got to hack his-or- her way through an absolute jungle of false trails, dead ends, mirages, shifting 'facts' and unreliable 'settled opinions.' When Derleth suggested that he and Lovecraft were virtual partners in writing he also promoted the illusion that Derleth's interpretations of Lovecraft's works were in indisputable agreement with the master himself. To this day scholars refer to "Lovecraft's Cthulhu Mythos". It is perhaps expedient to do so, but it is essentially misleading! The term Cthulhu Mythos was never used by Lovecraft himself. HPL occasionally used the term Yog-Sothothery, but even that was never really defined to any explicit degree. Even though HPL appeared to withdraw from creating origional fiction in the last few years of his life, he continued to refer to the characters of his synthetic pantheon with various correspondents. To the last he seemed to express a certain fondness in mentioning his 'pre-human entities' when writing to others. It should be mentioned that Lovecraft did not have any idea that Derleth had plans to create Arkham House Publishers beforehand. In fact that company was created when no established publishing house showed interest in producing a collection of Lovecraft's works after his death. The Outsider and Others, came out 2 years after the master died, it was the very first publication by the legendary company. Arkham House would become almost as mysterious, fabled, and enshrowded in dark whispers as the man whose works it honoured! (Exhibit 217)