#The Mystic Crone

[amythystraine]

I Deactivated My Facebook Page

Yep, I did it.  It was about time.  Ever since the birth of the algorithm, even though I had thousands of people on my friends list, I think three of them saw my posts (sarcasm, kind of).  True.  I had been reading about "shadow banning" on YouTube, Facebook, and a couple other platforms, and I wanted to see if this is what happened to my FB profile, so I logged into my other profile (come on, we all have one), and even though I was on MY OWN FRIENDS LIST, I saw virtually nothing -- no posts --  when I went to view my main profile.  I thought, boy this is odd, I'm my own friend, but I see virtually nothing.  I'm thinking this must mean that other people on my friends list see virtually nothing as well.

I think I figured out why.

I've been promoting my books on FB for years, literally YEARS, and I got a nice bit of back and forth, responses, comments, and the like, until FB started charging you to "run ads", to pay for "sponsored" ads, and I've seen quite a few of these ads come through my feed from other authors.  But, hey, I don't make enough money off of anything to pay for promotion, and I'm not really sure how much I trust their spiel:  "If you pay us $50 for an ad, it will be shown to 3000 people".  No, I don't believe it.

So, there you go.  

I have a private page now, consisting of family, a handful of people I know from The Real World, and a few internet friends I've had for years that I've become very fond of -- and I have a few more of these people that I need to reconnect with.  Less than 30 people so far, and it feels much more cozy than 4000 people who were mostly total strangers.

I do want to say that with my private page I have now, I did take the opportunity to create three new public pages at Facebook, and I'm going to give you the links to those pages here:

The Mystic Crone click HERE

I began this page with a few posts which include episodes #30 to #37.  From now on, when I post on The Mystic Crone Blog and The Mystic Crone YouTube, I'll make sure that I post the latest podcast on this Facebook page.  Let it be known that there are a slew of podcasts @ this YouTube, if you haven't checked them out, and as we say -- spiritual readings are Timeless.

You'll find mystical readings inspired by Spirit using the tarot.  They say that once you reach a certain age you become invisible, and to an extent, that's true. However, with age and invisibility comes a certain sense of power.

"Reclaim your power, O' ancient one. Walk the paths of your ancestors, communicate with the spirit world, and challenge the shadows. The universe will be still to hear your whispered words of wisdom." ~ Mystic Crone

Spirits n' Stuff click HERE

I have 22 podcasts uploaded to my Spirits n' Stuff YouTube, and I managed to post all of these to this new Facebook page.  I will certainly try to post new podcasts, as they're created, to this page as well.  You can subscribe to this YouTube channel to be notified when I upload a new video.Spirits n' Stuff explores the world of spiritualism, the supernatural, the paranormal, cryptids, myths and legends, hauntings, and the unknown.

BOOKS by Amythyst Raine click HERE

At this Facebook page, I've created ten posts, a post for each book, including info from the back cover text, a banner created for each book, and in the comments you'll find a link to purchase each book at Amazon.  I won't be creating anymore posts on this page.  Basically, you'll find my books here with the info you need to browse & purchase.

Amythyst Raine is a Best-Selling author of metaphysical books on tarot and intuitive reading, witchcraft, Wicca, paganism, women's mysteries, new-age spirituality, the pagan Goddess, gray magic, and green witchcraft.

There you have it, my new experience and journey on Facebook, going forward.  I would be absolutely thrilled if you visited these pages and click the like or follow button, feel free to leave comments, watch podcasts, buy books, or enjoy an intuitive inspiring spiritual reading.

[mysticcrone5761]

Episode #37 Daily Cards/Daily Wisdom ~ silence is your protection

[wingedblooms]

seer. wise woman. witch.

This series builds on previous witch posts, including Secret, lovely seer witch and Passing the mantle. There are hints from the beginning that all three sisters are witches, but this series focuses primarily on Elain's connections to witches. All of these posts are situated in the Maasverse and have spoilers for all three series, so please proceed with caution.

-1- Lovely monster

-2- Seed of power

-3- Herbs she planted

-4- The Ancients

-5- Song of the wind

-6- The sense chanted

-7- Groundings

More theories, connections, and headcanons about the middle Archeron sister here.

[venuskind]

☆ Becoming a Crone ☆

Much of what has been written on middle age and becoming a crone only partially resonates with me, if it does at all. I feel the relative truth of what I hear and read, my truth though related is different. From my vantage point my experience and truth feels more expansive, as it does not limit me to a form, gender narratives, nor ancestral myths. 

The states I am being initiated into are not as earthbound, or linked to ancestral traditions still known to us. They are ancient in that they have been present on this planet in times before - before the forgetting and atrocities of separation consciousness. The states I am being led to carry in them the frequencies of earth, our galactic origins, as well as the dark formless that preceded all form.

The much glorified and centered rewilding has been a part of my journey, a part that was given to my thirties and which played a part in my liberation. Looking from where I am now it becomes obvious that it was but a preparatory stage, not an end or climax of this path. My Soul calling me to walk further, to remember ancient knowing of *all* my lineages planetary, non-planetary, and all the way back to the source of all form - the numinosity of the void.

One piece of this becoming is the lesson of stripping off all human identities, identifications with personality, body, and mind, to immerse into and know the formless essence of being. In stripping off the aforementioned I find myself no longer beholden to them, seeing them as mere constructs, artificial to the boundless nature of being. Realizing how being human has been limited to repeating patterns and limited possibilities of expressing and being due to the great forgetting and the rule of stark unconsciousness. Our being knows that there is another way of being human and exploring this dimension, and this knowing is calling ever so loudly for embodiment. To do so we have to take off the heaviness of unconscious patterning, and distorted perceptions, only then will we be truly receptive to and have enough spaciousness to call in expanded possibilities to flow through our being and rework our collective field.

Another aspect of this becoming is to wholly embrace oneness. It sounds simple but experience shows how much our mind body system resists it. It will accept it here and there but in the next moment it will hold on to separation consciousness in order to differentiate itself from 'others', which it holds in some form of judgement or dislike. So deeply ingrained are these conditioned distortions that we find ourselves once again split within, some part vibrating with the frequency of oneness and others clinging to separation consciousness. 

And I am learning that a nervous system which has been dysregulated by complex trauma is slow in releasing the fears and automated responses it has created for survival and open to the deeper meanings and ramifications of oneness. This is where deep compassion and skillfulness are needed to help integrate and heal with the guidance and grace of Self energy. It is a very slow process and yet it is a crucial part of this journey, it is the most important key to unlocking our full potential, expanded knowing, and full alignment with consciousness/life.

While working on the previous a third aspect is being learned and gently entrained in our body: 

To drink of the poison cup without sickening or dying. 

What I mean by it is the capacity to be present with the most harrowing aspects of human doing, with the oppressions, injustices, and violence our plant, animal, and human kin are suffering without resorting to denial, repression, numbing, or acting out. To be a vessel large enough to feel and hold it with compassion and perceive with eyes of consciousness, witnessing it fully and honoring the experiences observed, and act where it is in our power with love and care to alleviate and balance what we can. To feel and know the suffering of all - victim, perpetrator, bystanders, and saviors alike - knowing the underlying distortions and conditioning that keep recreating these experiences across millennia. 

Being, seeing, feeling, reflecting at the same time, side-stepping explanations and resolutions of the conditioned mind, and  opening to the mystery while leaning into not-knowing with trust. Letting the love at the core of our being call to the mystery to reveal knowing, a path to change or healing, and support us in holding it in a way that doesn't poison us to be a(n unwitting) part of it. 

This is what embodying a different frequency and holding it in a dissonant field is to me. 

... continued on the blog.

Art: 'ATMA - The Guide of Souls' by Autumn Skye

Source: https://venuskind.de/2023/11/crone/

[intellectualgirlblogger]

Glamour and sorrow may just go hand in hand. They both cost you something🤷‍♀️☠️👒😤🩰🚬🕰️⚰️✨✨✨✨✨

[saturninemysticthreads]

How would you style/use this? Comment below!

[gaiasgrimoire]

HEKATE - History & Origins

Hekate (also spelled Hecate) is an ancient goddess who originated in pre-Greek Anatolia (modern-day Turkey) and later became prominent in Greek mythology. Her roots are deep and complex, with associations that span from the underworld to the heavens, making her one of the most enigmatic and powerful figures in the ancient world.

Origins of Hekate

1. Pre-Greek Origins:

Hekate's origins likely stem from pre-Hellenic times, specifically in the region of Anatolia. Some scholars believe she may have evolved from a local goddess worshipped by the Carian people, a civilization located in southwestern Anatolia. In this early context, Hekate was probably associated with fertility, the natural world, and the cycles of life and death.

2. Introduction to Greece:

Hekate was later integrated into the Greek pantheon, where she became a highly revered and complex deity. Unlike many other deities that were tightly tied to a specific realm or aspect of life, Hekate’s powers spanned the heavens, earth, and the underworld, giving her a unique and formidable position in the Greek spiritual framework.

3. The Hesiod Connection:

Hekate first appears prominently in written Greek records in Hesiod’s Theogony (circa 8th century BCE). Hesiod describes her as a powerful goddess honored by Zeus himself, with dominion over the earth, sea, and sky. According to Hesiod, she was one of the few Titans who retained her powers after the Olympian gods defeated the Titans. This depiction of Hekate as a goddess of great authority suggests that her worship was both widespread and significant during the time.

Hekate’s Role and Attributes

Hekate's identity evolved over time, and she became associated with several key aspects:

1. The Crossroads and Liminal Spaces:

Hekate was often depicted as a goddess of the crossroads, symbolizing her connection to liminal spaces—places where the boundaries between worlds (life and death, light and dark) are thin. Crossroads were considered magical or dangerous places in ancient times, and offerings were often left for Hekate at these junctions, particularly on nights of the new moon.

2. Goddess of Magic and Witchcraft:

Hekate became closely associated with magic, witchcraft, and the mystical arts. She was believed to have power over spirits and ghosts and was often invoked by those seeking protection, guidance, or to cast spells. Her role as a guide in the spiritual realm made her a key figure in the rituals of ancient sorceresses and witches.

3. Triple Goddess:

In later traditions, Hekate was portrayed as a triple goddess, representing the three phases of a woman’s life (maiden, mother, and crone) or the three realms she ruled (earth, sea, and underworld). She is often depicted with three faces or bodies, symbolizing her ability to see in all directions and her mastery over past, present, and future.

4. Keeper of the Underworld:

Hekate was also connected to the underworld and became a key figure in the myths surrounding death, the afterlife, and the spirits of the dead. In many depictions, she is shown holding torches, which symbolize her role as a guide, lighting the way for souls journeying to the underworld. In the myth of Persephone, Hekate is described as guiding the young goddess back to the world of the living, solidifying her connection to both life and death.

Symbols and Iconography

Hekate is often depicted holding torches, symbolizing her role as a guide through darkness. Other symbols associated with her include:

🐕 Dogs: Dogs were sacred to Hekate, often accompanying her in depictions or howling at crossroads, signaling her presence.

🗝️ Keys: As a gatekeeper between worlds, she holds the keys to the underworld and the mysteries of life and death.

🐍 Serpents: Symbolizing rebirth, transformation, and wisdom, serpents are frequently connected with Hekate’s imagery.

🗡️ Daggers: These represent her role in cutting through illusions and revealing truth.

Worship and Practices

Offerings at Crossroads: In ancient Greece, worshipers left offerings known as Hekate’s Supper at crossroads. These offerings often included food, incense, or small tokens to appease the goddess, seek protection, or honor her as a protector of the household.

Pharmakeia (Witchcraft and Medicine): Hekate was revered by witches and healers for her mastery of herbcraft, poisons, and magical spells. Those practicing pharmakeia (the ancient art of medicinal and magical herbs) would invoke her assistance in their workings.

Legacy

Hekate’s legacy is vast, and she remains a powerful figure in modern paganism and witchcraft. Contemporary witches often invoke Hekate as a goddess of magic, transformation, and protection. Her connection to the moon, the night, and the spirit world makes her a potent deity for those walking magical or spiritual paths.

In essence, Hekate is a goddess of boundaries and transitions, guiding individuals through difficult journeys—whether in the physical world or the spiritual realms. Her origins are ancient, but her presence endures, particularly for those seeking wisdom, magic, and the courage to face the unknown.

[dark-corner-cunning]

Embracing the Northern Road: Welcoming the Winter Solstice

Winter Solstice blessings, seekers of the hidden paths. As we step into the season of stillness and shadow, we walk the Northern Road—the sacred direction of Winter, midnight’s embrace, and the black spirits of air. This is the realm of haunted winds, the whisper of spirit, the curling smoke of offerings, our breath upon the icy air, and the resonance of the voice that calls from the depths of the unseen.

The Northern Road is the domain of Old Mother Black Cap, embodying the Crone’s energy—wisdom distilled through experience, transformation born from the dark soil of the soul. The familiar spirit of this path is the black crow, a sentinel of the liminal. The crow, perched between realms, offers us a mystical gateway to the spirit world, where the rational mind falters, and the mysteries unfold. With the crow’s guidance, we are invited to explore the unknown, to see the unseen, and to trust the revelations it offers. The crow’s magic teaches us to dance with life’s mysteries and cultivates a sense of curiosity about the depths within ourselves and the world.

As the Winter Solstice dawns, marking the longest night and the return of the sun’s journey, we are reminded of Winter’s sacred purpose: transformation. This season, cradled in the arms of the Northern Road, is the birthplace of revolution and evolution. Winter is a time of introspection and integration, calling us to confront our shadows and embrace the darkness that holds the seeds of our potential. Through this embrace, we align with the cycles of the earth and prepare to sow the intentions that will sprout with the awakening of Spring.

The Northern Road speaks of balance—the ability to wield both the light and the shadow. Under Old Mother Black Cap’s watchful eye, we learn the power to cure, bless, and charm, as well as to curse, blast, and bind when necessity calls. This path reminds us of the duality within all things and the wisdom required to discern the appropriate actions in alignment with our deeper truths.

Workings under the Northern Road’s influence are potent and transformative. Air & Spirit magick thrives here, as do practices of atavistic communion—connecting with ancient and primal energies within ourselves and the land. Expansion and transformation are key themes, as are the arts of binding, blasting, and wisdom-seeking. The airy nature of this road encourages communication—not only with others but with the unseen forces and whispers of the spirits that guide us.

As you welcome the Winter Solstice, take a moment to stand still beneath the northern winds. Feel the breath of spirit on your skin, hear the crow’s call, and allow the Crone’s wisdom to guide you. Embrace the mysteries of this season, for Winter is not an end but a sacred pause, a time to honor the darkness within and prepare for the light to come. The Northern Road is yours to walk—boldly, wisely, and with the strength to wield all the power it offers. Blessed be. 🌒🖤🪶

“To the spirits of the north, keepers of the air, and the crow's keen eye. Hear our call, awaken, and arise.”

Artwork by my witch sister - Kay Reid

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

The Mystical Significance of the Crow in Witchcraft and Magick

In the vast tapestry of symbols and beings that populate the world of witchcraft and magick, few hold as much intrigue and mystique as the crow. Revered by many cultures throughout history, the crow has come to symbolize wisdom, magic, and transformation in the realm of the occult. Let's explore the significance of this enigmatic bird and its role in witchcraft and magick.

1. **Messenger of the Otherworld:**

In various mythologies and belief systems, crows are often seen as messengers between the earthly realm and the realm of spirits. Their black plumage and keen intelligence evoke an air of mystery, making them natural conduits for communication with the unseen realms. In witchcraft and magick, practitioners may invoke the presence of crows to seek guidance, protection, or insight from the spirit world.

2. **Bearer of Wisdom:**

Crows are highly intelligent birds known for their problem-solving abilities and complex social behaviors. In many cultures, they are revered as symbols of wisdom and knowledge. In witchcraft, the crow is often associated with the archetype of the wise old crone, a figure steeped in ancient wisdom and magickal prowess. Through their association with crows, witches seek to tap into the deep well of knowledge that these birds are said to possess.

3. **Guardian of the Sacred:**

In some traditions, crows are believed to be guardians of sacred spaces and magickal practitioners. They are said to watch over witches and protect them from harm, serving as loyal allies and guides on their spiritual journey. In rituals and spells, practitioners may call upon the energy of the crow to provide a shield of protection or to keep unwanted influences at bay.

4. **Agent of Transformation:**

Crows are creatures of the liminal spaces – the thresholds between light and darkness, life and death, the mundane and the magickal. As scavengers, they feed on the remains of the old, transforming death into new life. In witchcraft, crows are often associated with the process of transformation and renewal. They remind practitioners that change is a natural and necessary part of life, and that through death and decay comes the opportunity for rebirth and growth.

5. **Symbol of Magickal Power:**

Throughout history, crows have been associated with magickal power and the ability to shape-shift or transform. In folklore and mythology, witches are often depicted as being able to take on the form of crows or to summon them to do their bidding. In modern witchcraft, crows are revered as symbols of personal empowerment and mastery over one's own destiny.

The crow holds a special place in the pantheon of symbols used in witchcraft and magick. As a messenger, guardian, and symbol of wisdom and transformation, it serves as a powerful ally for practitioners seeking to deepen their connection to the mysteries of the universe. Whether invoked in rituals, spells, or meditation, the crow embodies the essence of magickal power and spiritual insight, guiding witches on their path to enlightenment and empowerment.

[talonabraxas]

Owl Witch Talon Abraxas

Hecate and Owls: Ancient Symbols of Wisdom and Mystery

In ancient mythology, Hecate, the Greek goddess of magic, crossroads, and the night, holds a mysterious and revered place. Often depicted as a triple goddess, with three faces representing the maiden, mother, and crone, Hecate is associated with the unseen realms, the moon, and the mystical forces of nature. One of the animals closely linked to this enigmatic deity is the owl, a creature that has captivated human imagination for centuries.

Owls have long been regarded as symbols of wisdom, intuition, and the ability to see beyond the veil of darkness. Their nocturnal habits and keen nocturnal vision have earned them a place in various cultures as messengers between the mortal and spirit worlds. In many ancient societies, owls were believed to be companions of goddesses associated with magic and wisdom, including Hecate.

The connection between Hecate and owls is deeply rooted in the symbolism they share. Owls’ nocturnal nature and their ability to navigate through darkness align with Hecate’s role as the goddess of the night and the underworld. The owl’s piercing gaze, often depicted as penetrating and all-knowing, mirrors the goddess’s wisdom and her ability to see through illusions. Additionally, both Hecate and owls are associated with crossroads, places where choices are made and where paths intersect, symbolizing the liminal spaces between worlds.

In ancient Greek literature, Hecate is often accompanied by a retinue of owls, reinforcing the bond between the goddess and these wise birds. Some stories even describe her sending owls as messengers to guide and protect individuals in their journeys through the darkness of life.

The image of Hecate and owls has persisted through history, inspiring art, literature, and spiritual practices. Even today, many modern practitioners of various magical traditions invoke Hecate’s guidance and the wisdom of owls in their rituals and meditations.

As symbols of mystery and enlightenment, Hecate and owls continue to intrigue and inspire, reminding us of the vastness of knowledge hidden within the shadows and the importance of seeking wisdom in the darkest corners of existence. Their timeless connection serves as a reminder that understanding and embracing the unknown can lead us to greater depths of insight and self-awareness. Just as Hecate guides travelers through the crossroads of life, owls illuminate our paths through the mysteries of the world, inviting us to embrace the magic that surrounds us.

[amythystraine]

Take Heed, the cards say

I haven't done one of these in quite a while, there's other things about the world that just seem more pressing right now. But it was good to sit down with the cards again, and as always, some of the insights left me with a "where did this come from" feeling... enjoy -- and take heed. There's a message here for someone.

The Mystic Crone click  HERE

Choices - Decisions - Results

[mysticcrone5761]

Episode #36 Daily Cards/Daily Wisdom ~ choices, decisions, results

I haven't done one of these in quite a while, there's other things about the world that just seem more pressing right now. But it was good to sit down with the cards again, and as always, some of the insights left me with a "where did this come from" feeling... enjoy -- and take heed. There's a message here for someone.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Little Red Rapscallion

Gender Neutral Reader x Jack Howl Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: 'Dear Evil, Overlord, Patron. Please stop sicking your demon guard dog on me. I'm only trying to help. Kind Regards, Little Red Ridinghood'

A/N: Thank you so much to @insideous-beez for the brain rot, which became brain fertilizer, and eventually a functional story; This one is a bit darker than the other installments due to the Warlock/Evil Deity goodness, so there is a bit more horror here!

[PART 1]

Your grandmother had always told you to mind your manners when it came to the creatures who made the forest their home.

Or, well. That was a lie. Many lies, really. If you wanted to be nitpicky.

Firstly, the old crone who lived deep within the borough of the cursed trees wasn’t actually your grandmother. At least, not in the biological sense that seemed to matter most within your little, provincial, town. She was just a kindly, wrinkled, turnip of a woman who found you wandering the mudflats one day and decided she liked your spunk and general lack of self-awareness. She patted your head, served you strange, bubbling, teas laced with sweet magics, and always returned you to your fretful parents by sundown. And so, she was Grandma. Even if calling her that aloud made your parents go nearly green and had the local shopkeepers crossing themselves and spritzing you with Holy Water.

Secondly, Grandma had never told you to keep to your manners. Usually, she encouraged the opposite. (‘Why not curse them, huh?’ she’d complain loudly. ‘They’re thieving bastards, the lot of them.’ ‘Grandma,’ you’d sigh. ‘The street cleaners are just doing their job. They didn’t mean to steal your dead racoons.’) The idea of her demanding you act ‘proper’ and ‘kind’ was damn near laughable. But what she did enforce upon you with all the firmness of a world-weary teacher was the concept of not fucking with that which ought not be fucked with.

And the sprawling, Shaftland Forest was not to be fucked with.

It had always been a great, creeping, thing. The trees would groan and whisper as you passed, and when their sharp branches tangled in your cloak like grasping fingers, it never felt like an accident. The animals that lived beneath those trees were even stranger—wild, large, beasts with glinting eyes and an arcane mysticism about them that left icicles in their tracks even on summer days, or tangled the undergrowth into something that moved.

The people of your village did not enter the Shaftland Forests. They put up signs, and wards, and spun cautionary tales to every traveler who dared step even a single foot into their teeny, terrified, homestead.

You visited regularly. Because you were half-stupid at least, and because Grandma lived in those woods. And while she’d cautioned you about treating her habitat with care, she’d promised ages ago that so long as you were sweet to the forest, it would forever be sweet on you too.

‘There is a great power in these trees,’ she’d hum to you, as she stirred a simmering pot that looked to be filled with the blood of… something you probably shouldn’t think too hard about. ‘You would have been a lovely gift for it, you know.’ She laughed under her breath. It didn’t sound like a joke. ‘But you were too precious to ruin like that. So he decided we ought to keep you.’

You had no idea who ‘he’ was supposed to be, but you always made sure to shower the forest with compliments. As thanks for not using you as whatever being a, uhm, lovely gift entailed. ‘Oh what nice leaves you have,’ you told many a tree. ‘And what large petals have bloomed today,’ to all the flowers. You’d always been safe in these woods—sheltered beneath a bubble of golden affection and the soft scents of the richest perfumes. The forest always welcomed you with open branches and the coo of creaking bark.

Which is why the twisty field of black thorns blocking your usual pathway gave you pause.

You reached out a finger and prodded one of the sharp points. It bit into your skin with the clear intention of drawing blood, before swaying away at the last moment to twine loosely around your wrist.

Huh. How peculiar.

“May I pass?” you asked the thorns.

The shivering web of ebony tightened along the path and you frowned.

“May I pass, please?” you tried again.

The briar patch seemed to heave with a gusty, angry, sigh. You were about to reach forward and try your luck one more time when a deep, rumbling, snarl curled out from the shadows beyond. Out of the sea of roiling darkness and dainty thorns strode a great, white, wolf. It bared its teeth at you in an expression that was entirely unpleasant.

Immediately you held up your hands in placation and took a wide step backwards. The wolf just kept growling at you like you’d murdered its entire family or something else equally egregious. It skulked forward soundlessly, ears pinned flat.

“My apologies,” you said, dipping your chin in a gentle bow. “I didn’t mean to overstep. I’m just trying to use this path to—”

The wolf lunged at you with a near roar, and you just barely managed to roll out of the way with a shriek. The thing landed hard in the dirt where you’d just been not a moment prior, and it swung its great, fanged, maw in your direction.

“Apologies, old one,” you tried again, just as Grandma had taught you. “But I really just—”

The wolf snapped, nearly taking off your fingers, and you folded over like a turtle that had been upended on its back—rolling around helplessly with your limbs flailing wildly as you went. The sharp crack of your head against the ground left your brain rattling around like dried beans in a can, and you could taste the copper sting where you’d bitten down into your tongue. The failed cartwheel had set you back a solid fifteen feet from the wood’s edge, and the wolf huffed at you—a stupidly pointed ‘stay away’ if you’d ever seen one. It glared at you with glowing, golden, eyes for a long moment before melting back into the shadows.

You spat out the cocktail of mud and blood pooling along your tongue, and wiped angrily at your sore chin. The forest had never denied you before. So maybe it wasn’t your lovely, lonely, trees that were sending you away. Maybe it was just this stupid wolf. Maybe the beast was trying to make a stand—to usurp the role of whatever spirit had ruled over this dark land for so long now. You grumbled and made your way back to your feet. It was fine. Your forest was strong. It would never lose to such a stupidly fluffy opponent. You’d just have to try again tomorrow.

The next day you armed yourself with a small arsenal of goodies. Daggers, ropes, armloads of talismans, and kindling, and rations. You hoisted your bow across your back and carefully plucked at the soft fletching of the arrows. The feathers buzzed beneath your fingers, and after a moment of uneasy hesitance, you cautiously replaced the weapon where it hung over your bed. Grandma had never liked the idea of you carrying weapons in the forest (‘it invites troublemakers’ she’d warned), but if something really had gone wrong in her woods, then it was better to worry about asking forgiveness than permission. And surely you could argue for a dagger. The bow… With its weighted arcana and strange, dissonant, strength felt like something dangerous.  

So you apologized to the rippling thorns before cutting them back with swift, precise, strokes of your blade and starting down that familiar path to Grandma’s cottage.

You made it about fifty yards before one of your talismans began to ping worryingly. The tingling thrum along your side was just enough of a warning to keep you from being mauled outright.

The White Wolf lunged from between the trees and you skittered out of the way of its attack. For such a huge creature, it was so silent. And its gleaming, downy, coat should have more than given away its position in the gloom. There must have been some kind of magic to it—something old, and ancient, that let the beast slip through the darkness unseen.

The Wolf situated itself firmly in the center of the path, hackles raised and shoulders hunched like it was readying itself to pounce.

“I need to get through,” you told it, firm, and raised one of the Protective talismans. After a heavy moment you scowled and bit out, “Please.”

The Wolf snarled and propelled itself forward. It latched its overlarge teeth in the fabric of your red cloak and quickly began to drag you to the ground. You frantically flailed about, and just managed to avoid those glinting fangs enough to thrust the talisman up into the beast’s ribs with a heavy smack. The charm lit with a brilliant, amethyst, gleam and sparks shot through the air. You let out a triumphant, ‘ah HA!’ And then all that magic fizzled out like a dying candle. You gaped in horror as the ‘one hundred percent foolproof, don’t you worry about that child’ Protective talisman fluttered to the ground like a discarded bit of newspaper.

“Oh, shit,” you croaked, as your cloak was shredded between the wolf’s canines with a horribly shrill wriiiiiip.

You sprinted like a bat out of Hell, tearing through the undergrowth and only just managing to collapse beyond the border of the tree line before the wolf could snap its jaws around your ankles. You curled your limbs protectively up beneath you, and watched through a veil of cold sweat as it paced along the foliage—leaving no tracks in its wake.

Fine, you thought bitterly. Two can play at this game.

The next morning you walked North, beyond the only safe paths you knew. Carefully, you began to scuttle your way up the nearest, gnarled, tree. The bark groaned and rattled beneath your fingers, as if disquieted. But there were no trails of white fur yet darting about the underbrush, so you offered the tree a hasty apology before climbing higher.

From there, it was only a matter of cautiously hopping from branch to branch. Normally when you’d tried ridiculous feats of stupidity like this in the past, the trees seemed more than eager to help you along—practically reaching out with their branches to catch you in their willowy, wooden, fingers. But they seemed stiff today, testy. The leaves themselves seemed to complain as you went, and you shushed them as politely as you could.  

There was a sharp bark from beneath you, and you looked down to see the Wolf circling your perch in a frantic, pacing, dance.  

“Hello!” you beamed, perfectly, poisonously, pleasant. “Nice to see you too!”

The Wolf sneered, lips curling up into a tight, tense, bow over its fangs.

You leaned forward, keeping a hand securely looped into your roost.

“Aww,” you cooed. “Is it too hard to climb up here with those big, fluffy, paws?” you mocked, wiggling your own fingers contentedly. “Bet someone really wishes they had opposable thumbs, huh?”

And then, like you were being smited by God Himself, the branch beneath your feet cracked clean in half, and you plummeted to the ground bellow with a harrowing screech. Naturally, you landed right at the wolf’s aforementioned stupid, fluffy, paws. Its great head lowered, and you could feel the heat of its breath as it growled into your face.

With a pathetic little ‘eep!’, the talisman tucked into the back of your boot burst into life and you flickered like a janky illusion. You stumbled to your feet a dozen or so yards away, fighting the urge to double over and barf. Slipping through planes was unpleasant at the best of times, let alone when under actual fucking duress.

The Wolf blinked its wide, golden, eyes at the empty space beneath its paws, and then whipped its head in your direction like a blood hound. You pushed yourself upright with the help of the very tree who had betrayed you so thoroughly, and began your hasty retreat.

You crashed through a curtain of thorns and out into the open with a gasp.

You rolled forward like the world’s most inelegant acrobat and came to a skidding halt in the dirt. You sat up with an achy cough, dislodging muck, and rocks, and leaves from your windpipe.

The Wolf prowled behind you—its glare a set of golden pinpricks in the gloom.

“What is your problem?!” you wailed.

The wolf tossed its head, like rolling its eyes wouldn’t have been enough. And snapped at you with another one of those pissy, bitten off, growls.  

“You know what?” you seethed, swinging back onto your knees to jab a finger at it accusatorily. “Fuck you!”

The thing had the absolute gall to snort at you before turning to return to its ceaseless patrol.

By the time you hauled yourself back to your family home, you must have looked an absolute mess. No one bothered to stop you when you practically clawed your way up the stairs and into your small bedroom. Though to be fair, no one really bothered to stop you for anything anymore. Not since an old women with too much spare time and not nearly enough light in her eyes had decided that you were a child to be treasured.

You grabbed your bow off the wall and slung it over your back. The sleek, silvery, wood hummed beneath your fingers. It had been a gift, one whose very existence you stalwartly refused to question. The weapon was finer than anything that could have come from your village’s blacksmith, or honestly probably any human craftsman. It was weightless. It was too heavy. It sang in your hands. It was not a token to be bestowed lightly. But… Well. Whoever it had belonged to before, it was yours now.

And you were going to shoot that goddamn Wolf right in the ass.

On the fourth day of your apparent banishment from the Shaftland Forest, you stormed those woods like a would-be conqueror. The silver bow keened beneath your palms, and you held a thin, spiked, arrow knocked and at the ready. Your nemesis found you in no time at all, and you bared your teeth at the stupid, fucking, mutt before it had the chance.

“One last time,” you said, drawing your bow as tight as you could. “Let me pass, beast. Or I will go through you.”

The wolf’s hackles were raised, but the snarl had slipped off its face. It dug its claws into the dirt, and you watched something like surprise work its way across the thing’s regal features. Its golden glare flickered from you, to the bow, and back again, like it couldn’t quite believe what it was seeing.

“I have business in these woods,” you demanded. And then, petulantly—because you just wanted to know that your stupid, devil worshipping, turnip of a grandmother was okay, and you were so fucking fed up with this garbage—you stomped at the ground and shouted, “And I was here first! So scram, you overgrown Pomeranian!”

The Wolf’s ears drooped, and something like a tremor worked its way down its spine. But then the thing was shaking its giant head like it was surfacing from beneath a pool of water, and it straightened its posture with a rumbling growl.

“Fine,” you snapped, and unleased the first arrow. It whizzed past your fingertips with a thready, shrill, fwoom faster than you could track. The booming force of it shocked you enough to have you shooting wide, and you watched that pin-thin arrow hit a tree trunk and sink all the way through to the other side.

The Wolf rushed forward when you went to reload, fur standing on end like you’d run it through with a bolt of lightning. It tackled you bodily to the ground with a yelp, and you wheezed as the air was knocked out of your lungs in one, fell, swoop. The bow tumbled out of your hands and you scrabbled for it wildly. And then the beast lunged for the bright red of your hood, as it seemed so keen to do in each of your past scuffles. But maybe it was done playing with you. Or maybe it just wasn’t expecting you to flail around so terribly. Because its garish fangs bore down past the soft, billowy, fabric of your cloak and tore straight into the meat of your arm instead.

You gasped and weren’t entirely able to swallow down the sharp shriek of pain that bubbled up and out of your throat. The wolf reared back in shock, its mouth stained red. It immediately ducked back in close, and then away, and then in again. Like it wasn’t sure what to do. The stalwart resolve from earlier was gone—replaced entirely by a bumbling sort of panic that had your head swimming more than the blood loss.

You tucked your arm in close, feeling the tattered remains of shredded fabric curling beneath new, warm, wetness. The Wolf cautiously nosed forward, but when you flinched it reared back like you’d struck it. The beast stepped pointedly away, and then began to pace frantically back and forth. Occasionally it would stop, like it was going to move in close again. But then its pointy ears would press stiff and flat atop its head and it would skulk away all over again.

Whatever, you seethed silently, jerkily ruffling through your bag for some of the Healing talismans you knew were tucked away at the bottom. If the monster felt some kind of weird guilt for taking a chomp out of you when it’d already been doings its damndest to maul you for the past four days straight, that was its problem.

It was taking you longer to unearth the talismans than you would have liked, and your hand was really starting to shake in earnest. The Wolf whined high and miserable in its throat, and you rationally decided that it would be a terrible, petty, idea to waste what little composure you had left just to tell it to fuck right off.

The horrid mess of crimson had begun to seep its way along your skin—dripping down your wrist to plop against the damp, mossy, earth with an echoing plip plip plip that was not unlike the fall of slow, fat, spring rain. The air around you seemed to grow heavier with it—the trees swaying at their roots and the dark, shriveled, flowers straining against their stems to get a taste. The Wolf’s golden gaze flicked around the grove cautiously, and you watched its black nose twitch in obvious discomfort. You swore you could see hands—dozens, hundreds of inky appendages reaching out from the shadows. Fingers twisting up into claws like they meant to grab onto you and dig in, never letting go. The Wolf settled itself at your back like a brick wall, snarling doggedly at the wispy talons. The beast was so large it practically enveloped the entirety of you, and you had to fight the delirious, dizzy, urge to lean back into its impractically soft fur.

“Hey! Are you alright over there?”

Both you and the Wolf jolted in surprise as a group of adventurers plowed their way through the trees. The Wolf’s already distressed expression twisted into something nearly manic and it roared—putting all those ferocious teeth on display.

“Woah!” one of them yelped, crashing to a halt and dragging their friends to a stop beside them. “What the fuck?!”

The others all looked equally startled, hands settling heavily on their weapons. And while right now Mister Wolfy wasn’t outright nomming on you or your limbs, there was a still a steady stream of blood trailing from the wound near your shoulder—a set of very obvious teeth marks sitting stark and red against the rest of you.

“We heard a scream,” another spoke up. Then, pointedly raising the sharp edge of his sword, asked, “Is this your companion, Ranger?”

‘Ranger?’ you blinked, confused, before remembering the bow still sitting in the dirt by your feet. Before you could respond, the Wolf lurched forward over your shoulder. It didn’t leave you—didn’t stray from its steadfast position at your hind—but it pushed its gaping, angry, maw as close to the group as it could. The trio reeled back as the monster snapped, and snarled, and nearly vibrated out of its skin with rage. But… no. Something wasn’t quite right. As viciously angry as all that harsh barking sounded, there was something very, very disquieting about it. Something strained, something afraid.

The one with his sword raised stepped forward, the others moved to follow. And then they were gone.

You blinked, shocked silly. There had been people there—not a second before. You were sure of it. What the fuck was happening?—

And then there was a discordant scream from somewhere deeper in the woods. Distant, but close. Like there were arcane tricks distorting the way of the world. Keeping you separate from the horrible, grinding, shrieking noises while… whatever was happening carried on—not a dozen yards away. Cloaked in shadows and rotten, violet, petals like how a parent might gently close a curtain around a child’s bed at night.  You watched in half-awe, half-horror as seeping, purple, miasma leached from the trees and into the air. It chased the intruders with vicious intent. You could feel the sharp, dark, heat of it prickling along your skin, but when that swirl of near-black enchantments made its way to you, it slipped past you like smoke—leaving only a faint trace of awful, coppery, perfume against your clothes.  

“Why couldn’t you just stay away?” a deep, miserable, voice echoed in your head, and you jerked around in shock to see the Wolf staring at you with heavy, gold eyes.

“Did… Are you…” you trailed off, swallowing. Not sure how to even begin asking what you wanted to ask.

The Wolf sighed, bone deep and weary.

“I tried so hard to keep everyone away,” its voice rumbled in the back of your mind. “Why did you have to be so stubborn?”

“This is my forest, too,” you said after a long moment, fingers digging into the dusty material of your pants. “What’s wrong with it? What happened?”

The Wolf stared at you, quiet and considering. And then it lumbered to its feet with a defeated sort of slouch.

“Come, then, Little Red One,” it huffed, and swished its tail against your back. “I’ll show you.”

.

.

.

TAG LIST [CLOSED]

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[dandelionjack]

watching agatha all along now because i wasn’t participating in the week by week release discussions (busy, you know, doing stuff) and what can i say… i’m up to e4 so far… haven’t read the comics so i’m judging purely from what i see on screen — it’s good. proper high quality, thoughtful tv writing.

character-based and mystery-driven, with plenty of foreshadowing. not so strong on the subtlety/subtext front; they do love spelling every bit of nuance out, but then again, it is the mcu. and as far as comic book movies (or shows) go, the absence of superheroes is always a net benefit, as was mostly the case with The Other Good MCU Show That I Watched In August And Totally Didn’t Have Any Knock-On Effects On Me, Nuh Uh.

i am in love with the almost game-like narrative structure that the central premise of ‘the road’ demands — a treacherous life-path of self-actualisation represented by a physical route through the underworld, in such a delicious classic-fairytale way, reminiscent of one famous road laid in yellow brick and thousands of other similar stories. it’s simple and effective and evocative of the atmosphere they’re going for; one of ancient pagan folktales and ritualised-ordeals-to-gain-magical-knowledge.

the song itself, and its reprise, is astonishingly accomplished work. the lyricism feels genuinely timeless and mystical, something that could have been written in the 70s by a hippie folk-rock band or passed down through the generations of a hidden initiatory tradition. instantly memorable earworm of a musicaltheatre-style melody, too.

what irritates me? oh, all the maiden mother crone talk, triple goddess blah blah blah, the bastardisation of the concept of a sigil (redaction spell to hide information? huh?) and other myriad inaccuracies in regards to modern witchcraft but hey, at least some of the stereotypes are gone. at least they’ve made an effort to research. and in a show that’s purely entertainment, a little respect goes a long way

rating it SO FAR a solid 6.5/10. will keep watching will keep updated. oh and, yeah, i’m catching the sexual tension and past unsavoury history between agatha and rio, obviously. the end has been plastered everywhere so it’s not a spoiler for me — i’m proud that marvel didn’t queerbait for once and actually delivered

[jasper-tarot-reader]

So I got Curious™️ about which of my tarot decks rename the suits and court cards, sooo last night I went through and figured it out.

Seven decks change every (or nearly) every suit:

Antique Anatomy: Elixirs (Cups), Coins (Pentacles), Blades (Swords), Rods (Wands)

As Above: Water (Cups), Earth (Pentacles), Air (Swords), Fire (Wands)

Dungeons & Dragons (these are my estimations): Wisdom (Cups), Strength (Pentacles), Intelligence (Swords), Charisma (Wands)

Erotic: Shells (Cups), Roses (Pentacles), Feathers (Swords), Candles (Wands)

Kemetic: Ankhs (Cups), Scarabs (Pentacles), Swords, Scepters (Wands)

Skyrim: Voice (Cups), Lockpicks (Pentacles), Arms (Swords), Spells (Wands)

Wild Wood: Vessels (Cups), Stones (Pentacles), Arrows (Swords), Bows (Wands)

From what I can see, this is usually done to better tie the four suits and four elements into the deck's overall theme...for better or worse. The D&D Tarot doesn't outline which suit was replaced by what stat, I had to figure that out my own damn self.

Beyond those, a good number of my decks change Cups to Chalices or (more rarely) Vessels, while Pentacles usually gets turned into Coins:

China: Chalices (Cups), Pentacles, Swords, Wands

Cthulhu's Vault: Cups, Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

Dark Grimoire: Chalices (Cups), Pentacles, Swords, Wands

Gay: Cups, Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

In-Between: Cups, Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

Manga: Chalices (Cups), Pentacles, Swords, Wands

Mystical Manga: Cups, Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

Silver Witchcraft: Chalices (Cups), Pentacles, Swords, Wands

Star Spinner: Chalices (Cups), Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

Tarot for Kids: Cups, Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

Tarot of the Divine: Cups, Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

Transient Light: Vessels (Cups), Coins (Pentacles), Swords, Wands

Now, why does this happen? Usually, it's to make the Pentacles seem more mundane and universal by turning them into Coins (which, I would argue, are better expressions of the suit of Earth than the Pentacle, since the Pentacle's thing seems to usually be a combination of the four major elements plus spirit or light or darkness or magic or whatever). Otherwise, it's to make the Cups seem more magical and occult by turning them into Chalices, though sometimes it makes it even more mundane by using Vessels instead.

Edit: I have been informed that Coins predate Pentacles as a tarot suit thanks to the Tarot de Marseille, so I'll take the L on that. It does make the fact that Pentacles are now the default so fascinating, though, as it seems like even pip-style decks have more in common with RWS tarot than Marseille...more fun stuff to research!

As for renaming the court cards, well, usually the whole court gets a face lift:

As Above: Elemental (Page), Maiden (Knight), Mother (Queen), Crone (Queen)

Gay: Youth (Page), Man (Knight), Guide (Queen), Sage (King)

Kemetic: Scribe (Page), Warrior (Knight), Queen, King

Manga (part of what this deck does is genderbend every card in the deck): Prince (Page), Princess (Knight), King (Queen), Queen (King)

Transient Light: Apprentice (Page), Champion (Knight), Keeper (Queen), Crown (King).

The most common single-card renaming among my decks is turning the Page into the Knave alone, which happens in three different decks I own: the China Tarot, the Dark Grimoire Tarot, and the Vice Versa Tarot. The Tarot of Dragons' only renaming is turning the King into the Sire. Some decks, such as the Myths & Legends Tarot, swaps the King and Queen's placement in the guidebook to make the Queen the leader of the suit, but it doesn't actually swap the meanings of them.

Despite all of this, 21 of the 43 (42 unique) tarot decks I own still follow the "default" of Cups, Pentacles, Swords, Wands and Page, Knight, Queen, King for the suits and courts.

TLDR: I did too much work last night on something that doesn't matter in the long run and I'm making all of you read it anyway.

[witchyfashion]

Witch's Brew: Magickal Cocktails to Raise the Spirits - A Cocktail Book

Drink deliciously and magickally with this exquisite compendium of potent mystical beverages, with witchy wisdom from author Shawn Engel and expertly crafted cocktails from mixologist Steven Nichols.   For thousands of years, witches young and old have concocted mysterious potions to heal, to divine the future, to get in touch with the energies of the planet—and just to have fun. In this enchanting compendium of 40 drink recipes, mystical maven Shawn Engel shares her thoughts on what to imbibe for power, energy, and amusement. Written in tandem with the award-winning cocktail writer and developer Steven Nichols, this collection presents a broad range of drinks for every purpose. Whether it's a trio of beverages celebrating the energies of the maiden, mother, and crone (with notes of pomegranate, fig, and smoke respectively), or an eminently sippable mint-based money magick brew for prosperity, this book is a party with a purpose. Not only are these drinks fun and shareable, they also contain ingredients with ancient magickal significance. For example, the “Keep it Hexy” is not only a delicious vodka-based cocktail perfect for kick-starting a memorable evening, it also contains black pepper to return a hex to sender, sage to cleanse an evil eye, and blackberries for protection. All recipes include energetic properties and plenty of information about magickal ingredients and why they've been used to address certain ills for millennia; some even come with invocations and rituals to amplify their power.

  https://amzn.to/3zoha51