#holy rituals

[poisonedtealeafs]

"you have a diary?" the witch sounds surprised, in her hand she holds a thin black notebook.

"well, it's more like a journal. i didn't write down every day just those days you know." he gestures towards it. the title "those days", written in spencer chicken scrathes of a handwriting. the white on black is a stark contrast.

"those days? the ones you don't talk about?"

"read the first page."

xenia raises her eyebrows starring at her classmate in confusion, but still does as she was told.

"a checklist", the confusion on her face spread even more, "holy water, a bible, salt? restraints? a rosary?"

"yeah."

"why?"

"it's the stuff my dad always uses on those days." spencer looks away avoiding the prying eyes of the witch.

"always? sounds like a wicked ritual instead of something from the holy heavens. what ritual would a pastor even need to perform..." her eyes widen.

"spencer", there is a crack in her voice, "don't fuck with me."

"never."

[alostwanderernotfound]

The Dangers

Many years ago in my studies I worked with many people. We all eventually started to disagree on a variety of things.

Latin was one of the few languages I was taught & to a degree retained at the time. Music was another study encouraged. To some holy families this was a practice to be whole & for others it was considered an opportunity- “a tool” as it was described. I was taught a lot as a child under the guise of just trying to learn of the world, but quickly others intervened. They were trying to teach me sorcery & I didn’t even know it.

The angels were fractionated by “rank” & “power”. Witchcraft & asking for the power of other things outside of us started to become a secret ambition of some. Some of us wanted to prioritize peace & harmony. Others were focused on the attainment of the most power possible for our survival.

Latin as a language is apparently spoken by a lot of different beings. Communication between beings that have different technology/skills/power/etc apparently had occurred at least somewhat enough of other beings to know of angel existence.

One specific group that shall go unnamed spoke Latin & to speak to them you played certain notes in a certain way. Like an intro song & then they knew you were speaking to them.

Some were asking for power & attempting to bargain.

This was one of the huge dividers that eventually led to angel banishment out of the clouds.

I do not think Latin is translated correctly & I think that’s for a very scary reason.

I also think I asked and wrote down pretty specifically if you did Latin mass to not sing.

That is because you never know who is there leading you to deceive you.

I remember walking into one of the first Latin masses given and as soon as I entered- I remember being taken aback because they were singing.

I looked at the sheet music and was horrified in its familiarity.

The sheet music had the chords for speaking to this other type of being that asks you to sacrifice your body to it for its power. And I watched as an entire congregation sung a chant to other things not of our God that was asking for a specific person’s protection for them. These beings heard the chant & I can only assume lent that person some of their power, for your words said that is what you asked for.

The antichrists/people in hell’s power is supposedly derived from these types of practices. They bargain & gossip with other beings to get favor & then ask for their enemies destruction. A lot of power comes from the manipulation of people trying to do good.

God told me a long time ago I had to warn when I saw this & I did. Many times. But they did not care. I was in the minority. These practices were apparently essential to others, but all I saw was the chaos & the suffering & the pain.

And I realized a long time ago me & you, we’re nothing more than an infinite sacrificial token to them. They’d flood the world & crucify me & keep going as long as they get to stay in power.

And that’s why the Bible & Christianity & all these religions & mythical stories were life and death & why we didn’t stop fighting for so long. Why they were the most important things in the world & you were begged to please just listen because we don’t know who or what we were angering.

This is the story of the never ending fall & all the things people have done for all of history that led to what we called the inevitability of eternal suffering for us all.

They seek to continue to erase memories because they don’t care if they destroy this world & they don’t want anyone to even consider stopping them.

I remember now the ones so many years ago that asked for my skin & my flesh & my body. And I cried.

And the other angels, spiritual beings, & their followers gave me to them- to make themselves more powerful.

[stayatsam]

time to plan out the border...

[chekhovs-tantrum]

Soup Day: a proposal for a TLT fandom holiday

Because Mean Girls wear pink on October 3rd. Star Wars celebrates May the 4th. Hitchhikers and Discworld fans don towels and lilacs (respectively) on May 25th.

Locked Tomb friends, we need a holiday.

I propose that 9/9 of every year is Soup Day. We celebrate, of course, by consuming soups. We share photos, recipes, and if you have a group of irl bone bitches, the soup itself.

If you can’t eat soup, put bread in a drawer. If you can’t eat bread, stare in anguish at a cup of lukewarm tea while contemplating the ways your God has disappointed you. Use your own moral judgment on whether you consume cow products on that day, as cows do exhibit mourning behavior.

Anyways that’s my plan for dinner on September 9th and you’re all invited! 🖤🖤🖤 I’m telling everyone nice and early so you can start hoarding bones. For stock, of course.

[shihkas]

Alison Miller DID NOT have her license revoked

Stop fucking spreading this blatant lie around.

This lie was started by The Satanic Temple, an organization linked with Grey Faction, who routinely denies the existence of DID and inserts themselves into the 80s SRA allegations despite them not even existing at the time (not yet as a recognized institution). Alison Miller had already retired prior to this despite their claims (2). There was no license to be revoked because it no longer existed.

How many times does it need to be stated that The Satanic Temple and Grey Faction are malicious groups that routinely target trauma therapists, survivors and individuals with DID.

For fuck's sake stop using them as sources. Stop citing them. Stop talking about them in a positive light at all. These are terrible people who have said and done terrible (and, frankly, stupid) things and who are clearly not afraid of lying if it fits their narrative.

** I'm not inviting debate on whether or not Miller purports conspiracy theories, if you truly think she believes everything she writes then you REALLY need to take a course on scientific literacy. Writing about survivor beliefs and how to treat them =/= believing they are true.

[codacheetah]

I joke abt Loop being a critter a lot but I do honestly wonder if they'd be considered like. Not a "creature" per se but part of some kind of mythological species from the Island's culture. To make a wish so severe and so powerful so as to completely destroy yourself, and be remolded in the shape of the Universe, well that just feels like the kind of thing that would get infinite fables written about it. Some parents warn their children that if they're too irresponsible with Wish Craft and ask too much of the Universe, they'll become a star as punishment (and if this is told to young children I have to imagine the next threat is "and you won't be able to eat all your favorite snacks anymore!") Some people however revere Stars as the most dedicated followers of the Universe, favored so much for their direct communication with it that they've been reshaped to match the stars that guide them. Idk

[ed13d1]

I feel the sun again

[m1d-45]

Can I offer you the thought of gifting Kazuha a music box to keep during his travels?

songbird

notes: yes. ignore that it took me [checks notes] like several months to get to this request. and that it was meant to come out on his birthday. shush.

word count : 3k

-> warnings : none ! minor spoilers for inazuma AQ but nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist : @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there was little you could give a wanderer. he only carried what he needed, and what was needed was already kept close and well-maintained. there was little room for extra trinkets or unnecessary weight, either sacrificed in a moment of exhaustion or left behind when fleeing from those who wished him ill.

your kazuha was no different. even after joining the cruz fleet, he travelled light, with barely the clothes on his back to keep him company. he kept his pen in one pocket and paper in another, rarely carrying so much as a coin purse. this was fine and good, except his birthday was coming up and you had not a single clue what to get him.

you couldn’t ask beidou or the crew, as he’d certainly be lingering by and his hearing was far sharper than his blade. you couldn’t ask him—you’d tried, actually, but he’d just smiled and promised that he didn’t have want or need for anything. he spoke of his birthday very casually, as if it was any other day and not the reason he was by your side at all.

but kazuha was nothing if not thoughtful. for your last birthday, he’d gotten you a book of pressed inazuman flora, each carefully labelled, and had spent the entire afternoon telling you exactly where he’d picked each and why he’d chosen it. a lavender melon flower for resilience, a sakura bloom for change, a maple leaf for love. it was a painfully sweet show of affection, especially considering that the sakoku decree was not yet lifted.

“kazuha- are you sure you want me to have this? it could be years before you could collect these again.”

“please, my muse, the decree will not last forever. i have faith. and even if it doesn’t…”

he slips his hand into yours, looking out across the harbor. he’d taken you to a ridge just outside the city, letting you appreciate the sights without being unable to focus on his book. he looks away for a while, out to the sea, out to what lies beyond, the world seeming to slow to a crawl around you. the very air held its breath, allowing a wayward samurai’s sigh to linger, his mind far, far away.

“…inazuma is my home, but it is not my only place of rest. even if i never again got to experience a wondrous autumn, i’d still have this book.” he dragged his eyes from far-off shores, the same color as the maples sewn into his clothes.

“i’d still have you, wouldn’t i?”

and oh, archons, just the memory of that was enough to make your cheeks warm from more than just the liyuen sun. it’s early morning and the crowds are just starting to pick up, the shops of the lower harbor slowly selling off their wares. you’ve been looking for the better part of an hour now, and nothing seems to quite stick.

he already has pens, and is rather fond of the kind he already has. while you have the name and seller of said pens—he’d lent you one a while ago and never took it back—he already kept several spares tucked into his pockets. no matter how often he writes, how many papers he folds and gives away, his pad never seems to thin. the thread he uses to repair his clothes never fades or grows sparse, and he’s never so much as lost the tie in his hair. the week is growing shorter, and you have nothing.

and sure, kazuha isn’t materialistic to begin with, but you can’t think of anything else. it’s not like he dislikes liyuen food, but you’ve caught him frying his own fish enough times to know that he far prefers simpler tastes. he’s the one more familiar with liyue’s plains and hills out of the two of you, and you’re not eager to hurt yourself looking for somewhere new only to find out he’s already been.

he never asks for anything, never shows a hint of wanting. if he likes something, he gets it, leaving little for you to grasp at. it’s hard not to feel helpless, when he knocks at your door with your favorite flower in hand and you can hardly think of a single thing to do for his birthday. you can’t very well buy the sight of gardens of maple, nor somehow import those odd jelly-fungi he’s mentioned eating while in inazuma. based on the way he describes them, you’re not even sure if they’re meant to be edible…

his sword is kept in pristine condition. his shoes don’t seem to wear. you’re not familiar enough with medicine to try at getting him something for his aches, but it doesn’t matter, because every dawn means a fresh set of bandages, the faint herbal scent of whatever medicine underneath staying strong. he doesn’t need anything, and what he does he already has, and what he wants is quickly paid for through months of saved wages. he catches his own food, embroiders his own clothes, and you’re certain he’d filter and drink seawater if beidou didn’t stop him.

what can you get someone so minimalistic?

you prepare to loop around a final time, pricking your ears for the slightest call of something interesting. an array of local fruits, the freshest on the market. silk textiles, horsetail baskets, handmade chopsticks. you push through the crowds, eyes flicking over each stall. food, clothes, more food, building supplies? the harbor is crowded, overlapping shouting and negotiating and the barest sound of music through it all, quickly becoming overbearing.

…music? you stop and turn and seek out the delicate sound, surprised enough that your purpose for browsing has been lost. it’s rare to see street performers this far from the city center, not to mention the sound is so thin… normally there’s at least a set of drums to cut through the chatter. you’ve looked over everything twice anyway, it wouldn’t really hurt to look.

you don’t find a performer. instead, the sound leads you a few stalls over, to one full of various odds and ends, each carved from a dark wood. a lone chair, a set of cups—one has a weird chip in the lip—on an uneven plate, a good dozen set of chopsticks, somewhat clumsily painted. it’s tended by a young man who’s very nervously watching the customer in front of him fiddle with a wooden box, turning it over and inspecting every angle. there’s a key sticking out the back, and when they open it again, a single thin note floats out, quickly dashed away by the crowds. it’s beautiful, clear and crisp, even with the noise around you.

“maybe another day,” the other customer shrugs, and though the vendor’s face falls, yours lights up.

it’s perfect. sure, yeah, as the would-be buyer steps away and you look closer, the lines of engraving are uneven and hesitant, but the music was what made it worth it. kazuha always talks of the song within whispering wind, and you’ve seen how his pace slows when passing an opera, lingering just so. you never bought tickets because you didn’t know which he’d seen before, but this… this would do just fine.

“sorry about the wait,” the vendor apologizes, a slight sigh to his voice. “feel free to take a look around, just please be careful when handling the pieces. i don’t need another scolding from master lu…”

you pick up the box before he’s even done speaking, flipping open the lid. inside is some sort of flower on a plain pedestal, the same color as the rest of the box and largely unremarkable. you turn it, twisting the key in the back a few times, letting the song play again. it’s a slow, dancing tune, clear through the bustle. the little flower spins slowly, and you’ve made up your mind.

“what song is this?”

the vendor perks up, picking through his pockets until he finds a folded note. “’moon in one’s cup,’” he announces, “composed by yu-peng from up in yujing terrace.”

you dedicate the name to memory, closing the box and latching it shut. already, your heart is beating a bit fast, excitement and relief filling your chest.

“how much?”

you were hiding something from kazuha. he didn’t know what, he didn’t know why, but he knew it.

well, that was a bit of a lie. if he had to guess, it was whatever you’d gotten for his birthday. he’d done his best to assure you that you needn’t do or buy anything for him, but you’d gone and found something anyway. he couldn’t mind too much, not when the wind around you seemed to curl and skip along, ruffling your hair with self-inflicted pride. you were happy, and that was a fine enough present in itself. it was better than the poorly-hidden worry that always colored your features before, and it was a relief to know that it was a shallow issue you had been hiding. birthday or not, he’d hoped you’d tell him if something was wrong…

but it was nothing, thankfully. you asked him to find you after dinner on the day of, and that was that. the rest of the week slipped away like clouds from the sky, leaving him with a clear mind and a faint smile as he slept.

beidou was, surprisingly, not the first to wish him a happy birthday. it was furong that first saw him enter the breakfast hall, raising a glass with a shout that quickly spread across the crew.

“happy birthday!”

“here, c’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

“a toast!”

“to another year of smooth sailing!”

“to our stormwatcher!”

beidou was, however, sat closest to the door, and so she was the first to throw her arms tight around him, not minding the way his armor certainly dug into her skin.

“happy birthday, kazuha. don’t mind the noise, yeah?”

it would be impossible for a day such as today to turn south. the crew settled down and food was pressed into his hands, the shouting cooling off as they refocused on whatever they had been doing prior to then.

aside from the commotion at breakfast, his day was relatively normal. monitor the supplies coming in to ensure nobody tampered with them, then unpack them below decks. there was less to do, but that was simply because the date of their departure was approaching. within a few more days, he’d be off across open waters once more, keeping eye on the horizon.

that was for later, however. after lunch, he left port and took a stroll north, sitting for a while in an open field. the sky was cloudy, but not enough to worry about rain, so he lay on a flat-enough stone and let inspiration ebb and flow. a haiku here, a scratched out line there, though he was admittedly less focused than usual. the joy from that morning hadn’t really left him, sticking to his clothes and filling his thoughts. he wasn’t blind to the fact that he was welcome aboard the alcor, but it would be foolish to deny the appreciation of such a loud gesture, in meaning and volume.

his birthday didn’t mean much to him. sure, there was another year’s worth of memories to look back upon, a year’s worth of friendship and connections, but that could be declared any other day just as easily. when on the run from the shogunate, there was little time for such things as celebrations…

perhaps that was why he was still smiling. not just because of his friends, but because he had the energy to appreciate them. the ability to take off work and sit in the sun, soaking in nature. the energy to look forward to later obligations, instead of being permanently stuck in the moment.

dinner was far calmer than breakfast. he returned to the fleet late in the evening, ducking below deck to help cook. very few crew members liked (or were even good at) cooking, which meant it often fell to him. today, though, he was ushered out quickly, a few more people than usual seeming determined to block him from entering. it was strange, but not unexpected. the crew was close-knit, with every milestone met with raucous celebration.

he didn’t mind, though, returning above and busying himself with odd tasks. ferrying messages from furong, sorting papers with huixing, any and everything to keep himself occupied until the bell rung and dinner was served. the smell of alcohol quickly stained the air around the crowded dinner table, joining the heady mix of relaxation, joy, and a bit of anticipation.

another surprise awaited him, it seemed. he stuck around after he’d finished his food, noticing when little yue slipped out but not mentioning it. he also looked the other way when he snuck back in with a plate with a somewhat dented cover, letting someone else take his empty plate as the new one was pushed into its place. the conversation fell and he ignored the smell of sugar in the air, lifting the lid.

inside was a cake with shaky, cramped writing, struggling to fit his name in such a small space. it had obviously been made in-house, and was likely whatever secret the chefs had been determined to keep.

the cake itself was okay. a bit too sweet, dense, and with an odd sourness that he couldn’t tell was intentional or not. but the crew was happy and laughing and he didn’t need wine to get dizzy off their high, sitting at a well-worn table in a familiar seat surrounded by those he loved.

there was only one thing left…

he packed one of the last slices and kept it close to his chest as the halls grew quieter, the night air far cooler above deck. anemo softened his fall onto the pier, the wind leading him through the city and into familiar streets. the sight of your house had long since engrained itself into his mind, but he still felt his smile grow, tucking his cake behind his back as he knocked.

you were as beautiful as ever. he was certain you could pick yourself up from a pile of mud and still be sstunning, but tonight you had put in effort. still dressed for the weather, but with a bit more care into the set of your hair, standing straight.

“my muse,” he breathed, taking the small box from behind his back. “i have brought you a gift.”

and of course, you made a fuss about it, about how it was his birthday and that he didn’t have to do anything for you. but was that not the same logic that he had given you? did it matter, really, when the air was sweet with more than sugar and even your mock anger couldn’t hide your excitement?

at your behest, he took your hand in his and led you out of the city. his ‘favorite place’ was rather vauge instruction, but his mind had been made up from the moment he’d seen you. not too far, as he’d hate to stay out too late, but still somewhere nice. past bubu pharmacy, up the stone path, and on the low ridge beside it. few people would be passing by this late at night, but it was still close enough to the city that there were no real threats. a blanket was laid out and you both sat, exchanging gifts. his was in a plain bag, carefully wrapped in layers of protective paper, a small wooden box that looked as if it was meant to have legs but the designer had changed their mind halfway through. it was fine work, if a bit clumsy, but he knew it wasn’t yours. your sudden shift in attitude earlier could only be explained by a storefront. further inspection found a latch on the front and a key embedded in the back, and he understood. inside the music box was (what he could only guess to be) a carved silk flower, though again, one of the stems seemed to have been snapped and hastily covered. he reached for the back and turned the key twice, letting the song begin to play.

it was beautiful. careful notes plucked a carefree song, sounding very much alike to the lighter bands along feiyun slope. the music rose and fell, cheerful but quiet, like a soft satisfaction instead of a bright outburst. it was a lovely song in its own right, but his mind was far elsewhere. you were waiting for his reaction intently, face held in suspense like you thought he might hate it. he’d think it foolish, but that would imply that he disliked it, and that was far from the truth. to know you cared so heavily about his reaction to a simple music box, that your worry was for him, that you had been so excited for him, that you were hoping for his approval as if you didn’t already hold all that he was in your palms. the box could be stolen on his way back to the city, knocked out of his hands and dashed under a heavy cart, and his day would still be all the brighter simply by virtue of you being in it.

it was his birthday, after all, and you were one of the best gifts he could ask for.

[godsworstson]

he looks like he bites people for fun

[sephospaganplace]

Happy Anthesteria!

Day 2, flowers!

Process (and flowers!) under the Cut

[gnosisofthedualrealms]

Ritual for demon/angel invocation

When I started doing rituals, I used the Gallery of Magick's books. They served as an excellent introduction to summoning spirits, but I had a problem from the start.

My first problem was the focus on practicality. I didn't like how every ritual felt like it was for personal gain and that the spirits were used at our disposal. I believe that respect will achieve far greater results, but respect starts with not only asking but listening to what the spirits have to say.

The second problem is that spirits were viewed as either good or bad. Angels were supportive and protective, whereas demons were evil. You needed to use protective angelic seals so they wouldn't possess you or bring you evil.

The more I did rituals, the more I felt like both demons and angels couldn't tell me what they were thinking due to the specific restrictions. I had a similar issue when I was a practicing Catholic, and it's what pulled me out of organized religion. I kept learning about how everyone viewed God, but I had yet to hear what God had to say about himself. The moment I did that was the moment I left the church.

Anyway, these restrictions prompted me to change the ritual into something extremely simple and more effective for my approach. I've had better contact with angels and demons, and I have much greater visions and revelations being shared.

The number one factor that I focused on was altering consciousness. I believe everyone has a different method for doing this. For me, repeating words and phrases allows me to get into a trance-like state, which opens me up to visions and experiences from whatever spirit I'm contacting. My partner gets into trance-like states from singing and music in general, so she uses that to help her with her ritual and meditative practices.

For those who wish to contact the spirits, take some time to think about things that you do that already get you into an altered state of consciousness or help you focus to the point that you forget the world around you. It could be anything from drawing, dancing, singing, writing, mantras, etc. If you have the entity you wish to connect with in mind while you allow yourself to drift, it's only a matter of time before the link opens and results show up.

It's important not to force anything but to let the entities speak to you in the way they know best. I'd also recommend avoiding summoning them for some request. Treat them like a friend that you want to get to know. It'll only be a matter of time before what requests that truly come from the heart will come up in those altered states and the entity will help you.

I want to conclude that tradition is not bad or obsolete. It's great to learn from, but the moment you think it's the be-all and end-all, you stop growing. It's the moment you won't benefit from the potential magick offers. Things change, and our definitions of spirits change, too. If you allow the spirit to speak to you in your current consciousness instead of forcing it into previous definitions or confines, you'll gain more than you could ever ask for.

Also, if you're interested in my specific rituals, I can share them with you to give you some ideas for your own approach!

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

if people were fundamentally good, we would not need Christ

[szaryherbatnik]

Oh fun you got a humidif- NO NO NO ITS THE LIGHT OF GHERIX ❗️❗️❗️❗️❗️

[peargreen-jellybean]

i post nothing for 87 yrs, upload my current fixation of fighty middle aged men, and then go dark again (probably)

idk who they are or where they went, but i would like to thank shacklefunk for thicc and curvy wade (a brain worm i’ve had for years) and for inspiring brick-house unit logan. god bless

(these are so crappy but it was a need)

[adobealmanac]

Herbal Limpia

There are many ways to perform a limpia, such as the methods I have shared on my blog before. This is another method that I know of. I have been taught these, and here, you can learn from me. Know that all limpias are simply different paths to the same destination.

Performing a limpia is a two person job. it requires cooperation and coordination, as well as trust. However, it does require firm boundaries as every limpia requires some level of either physical or spiritual contact. Be firm, and let your partner know what you are and aren't comfortable with.

The Ritual:

You will need: • A bundle of fresh herbs 1-2 feet in length Rosemary, rue, mugwort, sage, or basil are wonderful for limpias. I typically go into my garden and pick the herbs intuitively, leaving an offering of tobacco or oregano for permission. • An outdoor space • Optionally, copal incense and mezcal

The herbs are used to absorb and transmute the negative energies. The bundle is not like a traditional herbal bundle you purchase from a store. In fact, it is more akin to a bouquet. You may make it as simple or ornate as you like. I typically tie my bundle together with a red ribbon. You beat the client with the bundle, and not lightly may I add. You beat them all over their body with the bundle, head to toe; front and back, as if you are brushing all the negativity out of their aura and body. You may say a small limpia prayer or mantra during this process, or simply enjoy the silence. The intention of this is to bring the spirit back to their body.

Sacred copal is used to purify the mind, body, and spirit. The white smoke of copal perfectly captures its purpose: to turn bad into good; to replenish; to cleanse. It has been used for thousands of years, and should be treated with respect and reverence. Source it ethically, and, if you can you should collect it yourself.

Mezcal alcohol is an alcohol derived from the agave plant. It is grounding. Therefore, it aids in returning the spirit back to the body. It also aids in cleansing and purifying the body. It is typically sprayed from the mouth of the curandero onto the heart, head, abdomen, and appendages. It is an intimate practice. Typically you spray it under their shirt, with permission of course.

And finally, gratitude. The curandero must give thanks throughout the limpia. Give thanks to mother earth and father sky. Give thanks to the ancestors. Give thanks to the allies and tools that aided in the limpia. Give thanks to God, Jesus, and Mary. The participant must give thanks too, often by giving a small gift to the curandero such as copal, tobacco, or mezcal.

Remember, curanderismo is healing magic. Do not treat it as anything else.

[domwitch]

Need a guy to kiss and gently bite my belly fat and my soft inner thighs before eating me out this is mandatory