#today's tale of witchery

[breelandwalker]

Book Bundle - All Three Titles for $49.95

Now available in the Willow Wings Witch Shop!

For all my witches who suggested a discount deal for buying multiple books, IT'S HERE! Individual titles are always available, but if you'd like to buy all three at once and save yourself a few dollars, check out the new Book Bundle deal!

Here's what you'll get:

Grovedaughter Witchery: Practical Spellcraft Tips and tricks for building your witchcraft know-how from a practical, secular perspective, with advice on how to avoid common pitfalls, exercise critical thinking, and do magic without burning your house down.

The Sisters Grimmoire: Spells & Charms For Your Happily Ever After Inspired by the works of The Brother Grimm, this is a volume of fairy-tale magic for all occasions, from protection and prosperity to healing and hexes. Every spell is accompanied by an excerpt from the story that inspired it and each chapter includes a spell creation worksheet so you can create your own!

Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils A collection of original recipes for magical powders and oils that I use in my own practice. The list includes classic concepts like Luck Salt and Banishing Powder, plus specialty blends like Jackpot Powder and Third Thoughts Intuition Oil.

Get yours today! 📚💜

[xphaiea]

Witches’ ladder’ • found in the roof of a house in Wellington, Somerset, 19th century.

A six metre (approximately) rope ladder with intervals of tied feathers was found in the roof of a house in Somerset and was labelled a ‘Witches Ladder’ by it’s 19th Century collector because it had come from a house of a purported witch. People feared she would use it to curse someone (precious livestock maybe) or be used as a magical ladder to gain entry into a house. Today’s historians view it more as a ‘sewel’ for detracting deer. But because it was found ‘hidden’ it quickly gathered a tale of witchery and malice.

[cycian]

I feel like Andreja and Sarah need kisses on the foreheads.

You're right and you should say it!

Andreja and Sarah get kissed on the forehead, pure fluff, around 800 words under the 'read more'

I feel like Andreja and Sarah need kisses on the foreheads.

Andreja

Andreja groaned with pride as she set the bar down for the last set of her workout. She let her eyes close for a second as the Spacefarer took the weights off the bar, stretching across the bench. She felt a towel wipe the sweat off her brow and offered a shy smile to the Captain. This level of intimacy was new to her, but just as refreshing as the feeling of relief and satisfaction that she got from her exercise meditation.

The simple act of her dearest wiping her brow so that she could fully enjoy the relaxation that the end of her physical exercise entailed filled her heart with joy. To be loved, to be understood and allowed to bask in the moment made Andreja’s heart leap.

But that was nothing compared to the feeling of lips pressed against her forehead. A surprised chuckle escaped her lips as she felt two hands steadily gripping her shoulders, before giving them a quick massage.

“I am truly blessed to be with you, my dearest.” Andreja finally opened her eyes, letting them get lost in her Captain’s own. The Spacefarer’s forehead came to rest against hers and Andreja could not resist the urge to let her eyes close again.

She had spent so long, always keeping one eye open, never getting the privilege of being able to simply let herself be. Another kiss on her forehead and gentle hands on her shoulders.

She’d never look back. There was so much more to look forward to.

Sarah Morgan

The pile of data slate on top of her desk somehow kept growing taller. Sarah Morgan was unsure on how such a feat was possible—but she’d learnt that paperwork was akin to Old Earth witchery decades ago and had since made her peace with it. It was a shame, really. Such a gorgeous day would have been better spent in the Great Unknown. Yet, she was stuck. Stuck behind that desk with no possibility to grab coffee (Vladimir had been hogging the kitchen with Andreja and there was no way she was making her way past him without getting caught up in one of his tales) and stuck with paperwork.

She’d watched the day go by through numbers and short messages to Walter. Stuck.

The Chair of Constellation was so caught up in the five data slates whose data did not up that she had failed to notice the side door to her bedroom and office slowly creak open. She was only broken out of her reverie once a hand softly forced the data pad down, replacing it with a warm cup of tranquilitea.

Her tired eyes met the Spacefarer’s, as they let their weight rest against her desk, littered with data slates, notes and loose pieces of paper.

“You should get some rest, Sarah.”

She narrowed her eyes and resisted the urge to roll them, instead opting for a long swig of the warm beverage. Chamomile and Valerian—someone was attempting to fix her sleep schedule. Before she could retort anything regarding the matter, the Captain’s hands busied themselves. They stacked the slates on one side of the desk, and the paper notes on the other side. They proceeded carefully, giving Sarah plenty of time to object.

A couple of months ago, she probably would have asked them to leave her to it—it was her duty, as Chair of Constellation, to handle the brunt of the paperwork. Yet, with a warm cup of tea in her hands, and the care with which her partner put away the cause of today’s headache, she could not find it in her to complain.

She watched, almost hypnotized, her vision blurring as the sleep and herbal tea finally caught up to her. She felt a pair of strong arms lift her off her seat, before her back met the familiar softness of her mattress.

“’m sorry, budgeting tires me out faster than fighting terrormorphs, it seems.” Sarah mumbled as her partner helped her out of her shoes and jacket.

“Shush, just get some rest.”

Sarah wondered if that was one of the Captain’s powers, to make her feel so… serene. After over a decade of being constantly at war with herself, it felt eerie. Eerie to no longer be pushing against sleep, for fear of nightmares and the cold sweat that followed in their wake—no longer straining every limit her body and mind had to keep Constellation running single-handedly. She would’ve loved to voice her appreciation for her partner, but to no avail. As their lips met her forehead, their weight against her body, no word could come out.

She settled for the next best thing. She let herself be embraced, she let her forehead be kissed a dozen time over. Sarah Morgan let herself be cared for.

Sarah let herself be loved.

[imhereforscm]

Good morning ✨ 💛

HIIIII, SUGAR CUBES😘😘😘😘

It's 3:30 pm over here✨

Today was a cold day (not too cold. It was comfortable) and I LOVE IT🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ It rained a bit too and I really liked my outfit, sooo(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡(⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

And I had hot coffee after months, which was lovely(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

AND LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN🥺🥺🥺

(Rambling starts beneath the cut)

I MENTIONED ORDERING 3 BOOKS BEFORE AND THEY'RE FINALLY HERE

(It came in hardback and the texture is fabric-like AND BEAUTIFUL!!!! THE PAGES ARE BLACK AT THE CORNERS😭💖💖💖💖💖🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖)

The premise by Goodreads:

A love story between a vampire and a werewolf by the creator of the enormously popular Sarah's Scribbles comics.

Elsie the vampire is three hundred years old, but in all that time, she has never met her match. This all changes one night in a bar when she meets Jimmy, a charming werewolf with a wry sense of humor and a fondness for running wild during the full moon. Together they enjoy horror films and scary novels, shady strolls, fine dining (though never with garlic), and a genuine fondness for each other’s unusual habits, macabre lifestyles, and monstrous appetites.

First featured as a webcomic series on Tapas, Fangs chronicles the humor, sweetness, and awkwardness of meeting someone perfectly suited to you but also vastly different. Filled with Sarah Andersen’s beautiful gothic illustrations and relatable relationship humor, Fangs has all the makings of a cult classic.

Basically, it's a VERY cheesy story about a vampire and a werewolf dating, which is right up my alley!😩😩😩🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 I love cheesy love!!! I am cheesy!! And it's a graphic novel🙃🙃✨✨

Premise by Goodreads:

Hocus Pocus and Practical Magic meets the Salem Witch trials in this haunting story about three sisters on a quest for revenge—and how love may be the only thing powerful enough to stop them.

Welcome to the cursed town of Sparrow…

Where, two centuries ago, three sisters were sentenced to death for witchery. Stones were tied to their ankles and they were drowned in the deep waters surrounding the town.

Now, for a brief time each summer, the sisters return, stealing the bodies of three weak-hearted girls so that they may seek their revenge, luring boys into the harbor and pulling them under.

Like many locals, seventeen-year-old Penny Talbot has accepted the fate of the town. But this year, on the eve of the sisters’ return, a boy named Bo Carter arrives; unaware of the danger he has just stumbled into.

Mistrust and lies spread quickly through the salty, rain-soaked streets. The townspeople turn against one another. Penny and Bo suspect each other of hiding secrets. And death comes swiftly to those who cannot resist the call of the sisters.

But only Penny sees what others cannot. And she will be forced to save Bo, or save herself.

Premise by Goodreads:

A sumptuously magical, brand new take on a tale as old as time—read the Beast's side of the story at long last.

I am neither monster nor man—yet I am both.

I am the Beast.

The day I was cursed to this wretched existence was the day I was saved—although it did not feel so at the time.

My redemption sprung from contemptible roots; I am not proud of what I did the day her father happened upon my crumbling, isolated chateau. But if loneliness breeds desperation then I was desperate indeed, and I did what I felt I must. My shameful behaviour was unjustly rewarded.

My Isabeau. She opened my eyes, my mind and my heart; she taught me how to be human again.

And now I might lose her forever.

Lose yourself in this gorgeously rich and magical retelling of The Beauty and the Beast that finally lays bare the beast's heart.

I'M SO EXCITED FOR "BEAUTY AND THE BEAST" CONTENT!!!! I ADORE THIS FAIRY TALE SO MUCH!!!! THAT AND THE "QUEEN OF SNOW" ARE MY TWO FAVOURITE FAIRY TALES!!🤧🤧💖💖💖💖💖💖

So these were the books I got!(⁠*⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠/⁠～⁠♡ I wanna start Fangs RIGHT FREAKING NOW (⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)

Also--

I got us another dog. I named it Rabbit. I already have Apple. And now I can have Rabbit and Apple!✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧ (rabbit apple)

BTW-

I'm gonna edit the next part of Two Different Worlds and then post it later during the day (if all goess well and/or I'm not too distracted by pretty books lol).

I wish you all a wonderful day and/or night, babes!!!

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

 THE COVEN IS BACK! Meddling in Magical Pursuits by Brenda Trim is now live and #free to read with #KindleUnlimited!! Get it here: 

When Grams is kidnapped as part of a nefarious plot, the Backside of Forty is plunged into a world they aren't prepared to navigate...

To rescue their beloved Grams, the coven will stop at nothing, even if it means a wild journey through mystical markets and The Library of All Knowledge. Meanwhile, the goddess Artemis would rather the ladies focus on her priorities, none of which have anything to do with Grams's predicament.

As they uncover Artemis's secrets, conflicting motives begin to appear. Trouble finds the witches no matter where they go, and soon the Backside of Forty finds itself working with the Pleiades to uncover the truth about the Fountain of Youth before it's too late.

But saving the fountain from falling into the wrong hands could mean losing Grams, and the coven isn't willing to make that sacrifice. Can they find a way to make it all work with the help of their midlife magic? Find out in this captivating tale of supernatural sisterhood, mystery, and the importance of family.

#releaseblitz #releaseblast #releaseday #bookbirthday #booklaunch #nowlive #newbooks #pwf #paranormalwomensfiction #midlifewitchery #meddlinginmagicalpursuits #magicalmidlfe #midlifefiction #midlifeheroine #supernaturalfiction #paranormalfiction #womensfiction #reading #books #bookbuzz #bookclub #readers #booklovers

About Brenda:

A USA Today bestselling author, Brenda loves everything paranormal. She has co-authored over twenty-five books in the best-selling Dark Warrior Alliance series, as well as the Hollow Rock Shifters series. She also has best-selling solo titles readers are raving about. Brenda created worlds that feature dangerously handsome heroes and feisty heroines. With the help of popcorn and candy, she takes dragons, fairies, witches, vampires, and so much more and brings them to life. She lives in Texas with her husband and three kids who fuel not only her heart but her life. If she's not writing, she's reading, traveling, or knee-deep in projects with her husband and five sisters. She encourages readers to Dream Big. If your dreams don't terrify and electrify you then they aren't big enough!  

Follow Brenda! Amazon: https://amzn.to/3nm4TTN BookBub: https://bit.ly/3lkCvQp Facebook: https://bit.ly/2SvQHte Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3lcKHCb Instagram: https://bit.ly/33yg5oM Twitter: https://bit.ly/2StFQQH Website: https://www.brendatrim.com

[thesigilwitch]

Today's Tale of Witchery

I went looking for birch branches today, which was a little silly of me since snow fell and stuck yesterday. But I went and did it anyway, since I need them for a spell. ("Shock! Gasp! You? Doing a spell? Inconceivable!" I know right?)

I used the iNaturalist app to locate birch trees in my area, and I was happy to find one tagged in a park a ten minute walk away! (P.S. Shoutout to @polar-solstice for suggesting the app to me!) The sun was going down as we left, which was pretty but not conductive for looking for sticks.

We found the tree with no issues, just a short walk away from the tag in the app. The problem was - he was just a baby tree, very small, about as thick as my arm and maybe 15 feet tall if he was lucky. Even if he had dropped branches for me to take, I wasn't sure I could take them.

My search continues.

[whumpshaped]

Chapter 1: New beginning

Under the Bell Jar Masterlist

trigger warnings: tiny protagonist, isolation, captivity

There was not much the thing could do, trapped like that. It felt around the smooth glass again and again, going in tiny circles, looking for a way out. It didn’t remember much from before it got trapped, not a name, not family, not a place to call home. For all it knew, it had already been born inside the transparent prison. 

The ground was solid, brown, and the thing quickly identified it as wood. What kind of wood, it didn’t know. The walls around it were completely see-through, albeit a little dirtied from its own hand prints. And beyond those walls… there was the outside. The world that had unknowingly shunned it. 

There were many books around on many bookshelves, plants that seemed too green to be real, tiny, decorative bones and skulls the creature could only hope were fake. They were about its size. They could’ve been its bones and skull.

It couldn’t see much of the ground from up on the wooden structure - a table, perhaps? - but from what it could tell, there was a dark carpet covering it. It often fantasised about getting out from under the glass and making the terrifying jump, landing on the fluffy fabric and running away. There was a door just across from it, maybe it could squeeze under the threshold and flee that way. But the bell jar was firmly planted in its place, and the creature could never move it, no matter how much it tried.

It spent days just sitting around and trying to make out more and more of the book titles, letter by letter. Eating the Sun was one of them, and it wondered what the sun was, or what it would taste like. The Emerald Planet sounded particularly intriguing, although it didn’t quite know what a planet was. Or what emerald was, for that matter. The book seemed awfully green, so it pictured a big, green thing, something akin to a huge tree. It remembered trees, from before the bell jar, and the word planet sounded almost like plant, so it made sense.

There were other, non-plant related books as well. The Wicked Deep, Witchery, and The Resurrectionist were just the few of the other titles it could painstakingly piece together.

But the most perfect book was a big, red one with golden letters and funky lines. It read Fairy Tales in the most beautiful font the creature had ever seen - which wasn’t much, really, but it impressed it nonetheless. It liked the words imprinted on the cover of it, liked them very much, and for the first time since it’d woken up under the glass, it considered something strange.

Since it didn’t remember its own name from… before, maybe it could give itself a new name. It felt like a big responsibility, and it spent days mulling it over. Fairy Tales sounded like the prettiest name, but it wasn’t sure it would fit it. Maybe the book would take offence too.

“Would it be rude of me to take your name?” it asked one day, waiting for the book to answer. It didn’t. “I really don’t mean any harm… It’s just- I don’t remember my own. I would love to be called Fairy, like you.”

The book stayed silent. The creature felt like it wasn’t the malicious kind, though, it felt more like quiet approval. Like the book didn’t mind at all.

“I’ll take that name, then,” it said out loud, just in case, just to give the book one last chance to protest. When it didn’t, its face lit up with a soft smile. “Very well! From today on, I shall be called Fairy Tales! Fairy, for short.” 

The silence suddenly felt suffocating, and Fairy’s proud grin faltered. It named itself anew, yet there would be no one to call it that name.

[eclecticmisnomer]

🏴‍☠️ Here Be Pirates.....or at the least a singularly jolly pirate of ill repute 

🧭 ⚔️ An exhaustive film review of Disney’s Blackbeard’s Ghost (1968). 

Having read other reviews of this jocular cinematic farce, I unearthed assorted scathing reviews that tend to focus with choking gloves on the film's lack of historical accuracy. The humorous quandary? I doubt Disney had in mind a historical replication when conjuring this film to existence. For those curious bystanders, I am a historian. However, there are times when for comedic necessity, artistic liberties must be admissible. Such is the case with Peter Ustinov’s drifting pilfering-plunderer. Rather, Disney focused on the ghost aspect of the retelling, attempting to wield a believably good-natured human being for the savage historical figure. This film bears an almost Scooby-Dooish aura blending a good measure of both cartoonish spookisms and a spoonful of Disney’s atmospheric Sleepy Hollow (1949). However, if you are a ghost hunter in quest of a hair-raising reverie, you are likely to meet with disappointment.  Nevertheless, Robert Stevenson’s ghost story makes for a delightfully outlandish Halloween film. Stevenson was no stranger to the supernatural: this film was preceded by the Banshee-laden Darby O’Gill and the Little People (1959) and followed by Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971). 

A few years earlier, in 1966, Don Knotts chanced a comedic encounter with an unseen organ-playing ghost in The Ghost and Mr. Chicken (1966). Though with its light-hearted moments, Steven’s ghost-tale managed to capture what Alan Rafkin had not. The Ghost and Mr. Chicken imbibes a more eerie and surreal atmosphere than Blackbeard’s Ghost, which relies on comedy more than irony, suspense, and mystery. This, of course, arguably, is at the hands of the genius character of Ustinov, who balances both tragedy and jollity into a figure, that if recreated in cinema today, would likely stench of brutality. Ustinova harnesses his natural almost child-like energy with a freckle of Shakespearean monologue to craft a character who is seemingly capricious—grossly depressed and crocked at one instant and reeling and crooning the next. Stevenson does recycle the incantation sequence rehearsed in the Shaggy Dog (1959), which ironically saw Dean Jones reprising the role of Wilby Daniels in the 1976 sequel. 

Did I mention that Luther encounters an eerie portrait as well?

However, a more colorful plot is constructed: first, Steve Walker unwittingly suffers the brunt of a spooky retelling of the witchery of Aldetha Teach by a possessed Emily Stowecraft. One source recounts, “After a bidding war with the football coach at the charity auction, Steve wins an antique bed warmer once owned by Blackbeard's 10th wife, Aldetha Teach, who had a reputation of being a witch. Inside the hollow wooden handle of this bed warmer is hidden a book of magic spells that had once been the property of Aldetha. Steve recites, on a lark, a spell "to bring to your eyes and ears one who is bound in Limbo,” unintentionally conjuring up the ghost of Blackbeard, who appears as a socially-inappropriate drunkard, cursed by his wife to an existence in limbo unless he can perform a good deed.” 

The uncanny behavior of fortune-telling Emily Stowecraft and the shivery portrait of Aldetha remain the singular instances in the film that one might deem ‘spooky.’ Yet there remains a hint of comedy here as well. So certain was Aldetha of her husband’s flagrancy that she felt confident this would prove an impossible task to accomplish, ensuring his permanent residence in the suspended universe of limbo. A more humorous question remains for the historian: how did a despised outlaw such as Blackbeard manage to procure the ears of the authorities to have his wife burned for witchcraft? 

It is equally amusing that the Daughters of the Buccaneers are aware of the pirate’s spectral presence and live in unison with him without the slightest hint of trepidation, almost invoking Lucy Muir’s devotion to the captain’s ghost and his portrait (much the way Emily Stowecraft swoons at Blackbeard’s painted likeness). In classic film, portraits are as a direct means of introduction as a welcoming party, especially if the character is dead in Rebbeca’s (1940) case and with Captain Gregg.

I see several artistic parallels to other ‘family’ ghost stories that Stevenson drew on. The portraits being one which echoes back to The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947), where our female protagonist, Lucy, initially receives an introduction to the friendly spirit, Captain Daniel Gregg. In a similar parallel, Steve’s first acquaintance with the benevolent phantom is through Blackbeard’s revered portrait. In a like manner, the phantom-captain performs various ‘good deeds’ toward the widowed mother. Lucy receives a slew of strong warnings that the old mansion is haunted as well: “Gull Cottage…has a reputation as being haunted by the spirit of a seaman who accidentally died there.” In both films, the protagonists ignore the warnings about the blithe spirits who both happen to share the occupation of seafarers. 

Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s masterpiece draws its life-blood from bleak atmosphere, tragic irony, and dark romanticism, whereas Stevenson relies on comedic absurdity and a cartoonishly colonial backdrop. Unlike the Ghost and Mr. Chicken, however, Luther Heggs is never quite certain whether or not the ghost exists, although, like the Daughters of the Buccaneers, the Psychic Occult Society of Rachel insists on the presence of spirits on the mansion grounds. At the least, although manifesting outright slapstick comedy, Stevenson had the good sense to draw from previous ghost films. Blackbeard’s Ghost most closely resembles the nonsensical merriment captured in the colonial ghost story Abbot and Costello in The Time of Their Lives (1946) where Horatio and Melody are imprisoned in limbo for 166 years haunting the grounds of the Tom Danbury estate. 

It is important to note that Stevenson had previously worked on the colonial production, Kidnapped (1960). That was an earlier film, however, completed before Walt had passed, and the production value was quite higher in terms of costume design, set props, and atmosphere. I was disappointed that more attention was not given to set design, atmosphere, and Blackbeard’s ship, Queen Anne's Revenge, glimpsed at the conclusion of the film. Where the Shaggy Dog had an intricate and well-developed plot surrounding the Borgias, witchcraft, shape-shifting, an eerie musical score, and a macabre wax museum, Blackbeard fails in this Halloweenish aspect. Where it fails in atmosphere, however, it makes up for in humor. 

The Capture Of The Pirate Blackbeard In 1718, Painted By Jean Leon Gerome Ferris (c. 1863–1930)

Peter Ustinov appeared in several other Disney films, and this presented one of his funniest roles. He is quite believably a disheartened pirate, but unlike Lucy and Luther’s spirited friends, he is less hostile and quickly attaches himself to Steve. This is the beauty of an actor who is able to breathe life into their character and shape-shift into the actual persona. Is this an accurate portrayal of Edward Teach? Perhaps not, but after several hundred years in limbo, one might experience a change of heart. In keeping with the spirit (pun intended) of the other films, Steve appears psychologically disturbed to those on the periphery, making his reputation and mental wholeness questionable.

As far as dialogue is concerned, Peter Ustinov provides some colorful monologues drawing on his extensive theatrical experience, which provides a unique dichotomy to his comedic persona. For the most part, the other characters lack much development. Richard Deacon delivers a commendable performance as the panicky Dean Wheaton. Michael Conrad, as the football coach Pinetop Purvis remains true to his typically charmingly arrogant self, but if he was included as a competitor for Jo Anne’s affections, this seems lacking, and the romance between Jo Anne and Steve seems rushed. Emily Stowecroft is a curious character, and I wish that more information had been divulged as I feel she must be in some way related to Aldetha Teach. Usually, the musical score does something for the characters, but aside from the arm-in-arm shanty the duo carols toward the end, the music is without, and yet somehow, the quietness of the film is effective. 

Silky Seymour, oddly enough, is deserving of his own paragraph because he remains one of the most unperturbed villains in the Disney cinematic universe. I sense that Joby Baker is attempting to pull off the reticent coolness of a younger Charles Bronson. Unlike contrasting Disney villains such as Alonzo Hawk, Peter Thorndyke, A.J. Arno, Stratos, and Dan (Neville Brand’s character from That Darn Cat), Silky lacks the frustrated energy, and in this regard, he more closely resembles the George Sanders’ villain, Thomas Ayerton, from In Search of the Castaways (1962). He is a peculiar villain that maintains that posh and polished unconcerned arrogance perfected by George Sanders. Of all the Disney villains, his voice is velvety, almost sexy, and his mannerisms unmistakably bourgeoisie. Similar to the other characters, however, he remains mostly underdeveloped, and there is little to know about him save his gambling enterprises. 

I imagine Stevenson had in mind a subdued Shaggy Dog that would be less occultic and with a less threatening villain. Overall, however, this is a charming film worth viewing for the comedy, and the excellent dynamic played between Ustinov and Jones, and if you are searching for a Halloween film for younger viewers, this is a plus. What has led me to admire this film so ardently is Ustinov’s dialogue, the comedic duo of the two, the delightful friendliness of Blackbeard, and the mischievous peculiarity of Emily Stowecroft. Suzanne Pleshette is a delight as well, always maintaining her strong and dynamic personality, and of all the Disney couples, her and Jones’s portrayal is the most endearing. In the end, it is Ustinov who steals the performance, and it is his unrepeatable skill that breathes life, humor, and atmosphere into the film.

Up the jolly roger!

[lailoken]

“Sir Francis Drake:

The Elizabethan sea captain, privateer and navigator, temains of course a figure of global fame, particularly in connection with the 1588 defeat of the Spanish Armada His connection with Devon is also well known, but less well known is his legendary status as a powerful magician, witch, and leader of Devonshire covens.

In c. 1540, Sir Francis Drake was born in the west Devon town of Tavistock. In 1580 he purchased Buckland Abbey, a seven hundred near Yelverton on the south-western edge of Dartmoor. Anyone who was seen to have made great achievements and remarkable feats, in the days when witchcraft was widely believed in, was likely to have their successes put down to magic, and some form of pact with spirits. Such was certainly the case with Drake, who was said to have sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for victory and success, and there are numerous tales and traditions of his magical powers and his working relationship with the spirit world. One such tale concerns his alterations to Buckland Abbey.

During the building work, the workmen would down their tools at the end of the day, only to return in the morning to find the previous day's work undone and interference from the spirit world was suspected. Drake decided to find out for himself what was happening and that he would spy on the culprits. As night fell, he climbed a great old tree overlooking the house, and waited. When midnight came, out of the darkness emerged a horde of marauding demons, gleefully clambering about over the house and dismantling all the stonework put up during year old manor house the day.

Loudly, Drake called out 'Cock-a-doodle-do!" in the manner of a cockerel, crowing in the dawn. The mischievous spirits suddenly stopped their shenanigans in confusion, and Drake lit up his smoking pipe. As they spotted the glowing light in the tree, the spirits believed the sun was coming up and departed back into the shadows from whence they came. Presumably, they were so embarrassed at having been so easily fooled that they never returned, and the building work continued unhindered.

Traditionally housed in Buckland Abbey, is Drake's legendary drum. Beautifully painted and decorated with ornate stud-work, the drum is popularly said to have accompanied sir Francis Drake on his voyages around the world. As he lay on his deathbed on his final voyage, it is said Drake ordered that his drum be returned to England and kept at Buckland Abbey, his home. Here, the drum should be beaten in times of national threat, and it will call forth his spirit to aid the country. Indeed, there have been numerous occasions when people have claimed to have heard Drake's drum beating, including during the English Civil War and the outbreak of the Frist World War.

In 1918, a celebratory drum roll was reported to have been heard aboard the HMS Royal Oak following the surrender of the Imperial German Navy. An investigation was carried out with the ship being thoroughly searched twice by officers and again by the captain. As neither a drum nor a drummer could be found, the matter was put down to Drake's legendary drum.

During World War II, much weight was added to the drum's legendary protective influence, particularly over the city of Plymouth which, it was said, would fall if the drum was ever removed from its home at the Abbey. When fire broke out at Buckland Abbey in 1938, the drum was removed to the safety of Buckfast Abbey.

Bombs first fell on Plymouth 1940, and again in 1941 in five raids which reduced much of the city to rubble. In 1172 civilians lost their lives in the 'Plymouth Blitz’. Drake's drum was returned to Buckland Abbey, and the City remained safe for the remainder of the war.

Like many reputed witches and magicians, Sir Francis Drake was said to possess a familiar spirit to aid him in his work. The presence and influence of this spirit turns up in the stories surrounding his marriage in Like 1585 to Elizabeth Sydenham, daughter of Sir George Sydenham the Sheriff of Somerset. Some sources that Elizabeth's parents we disapproving of the union due to Drake's reputed involvement in the black artes and that the marriage took place shortly before he departed for a long voyage. After no news had been heard from Drake for a number of years, Elizabeth's parents took the opportunity to persuade her to declare herself a widow. Another account states that Drake's departure for his voyage took place before the wedding. In both versions however, The Sydenhams arranged for their only child to be married instead to a wealthy son of the Wyndham family.

It is said that Drake had left his familiar spirit to keep watch over his beloved while he was away, and that the spirit made him aware of her planned wedding to another man. On the day of the wedding, there was a loud clap of thunder, and a meteorite came crashing through the roof of the church. Some said that this had been a cannonball shot from Drake's ship to halt the wedding. In any case, it was taken as a bad omen against the wedding between Elizabeth Sydenham and the son of the Wyndham family.

The meteorite itself, known as ‘Drake's Cannonball' has been housed at Combe Sydenham ever since.

Another popular legend featuring Drake's reputed and remarkable magical abilities concerns the creation of the Plymouth Leat. As Plymouth had suffered problematic water shortages through dry summer months, it is said that Drake took his horse and rode out onto Dartmoor to search for a water source. Upon finding a small spring, he uttered a magical charm over it and it burst forth from the rocks as a flowing stream. Drake galloped o on his steed, commanding the flowing waters has he die so to follow him back to the city. Today, the Plymouth Leat has its beginning at Sheepstor on the western side of Dartmoor and ends in a reservoir just outside the city.

There are, of course, a number of traditions of magic and witchery surrounding Sir Francis Drake's defeat of the Spanish Armada. He is said to have presided as Man in Black' over a number of covens, and that during the threat of invasion, he and his covens assembled on the cliffs at Devil's Point to the south west of Plymouth. There they performed magical operations to conjure forth a terrible storm to destroy many of the Spanish ships. It is said that to this day that Devil's Point is haunted by Drake and his witches, still convening there in spirit form.

Another, more famous legend, tells of Sir Francis Drake playing a game of bowls on Plymouth Hoe when news was brought to him of the approach of the Spanish fleet. In one version he is said to have casually continued his game to its conclusion which, it has been suggested was a magical spell; with the bowls he was scattering with his drives representing the invading fleet. In another version, he stops his game to order a hatchet and a great log to be brought to the Hoe. He then proceeded to chop the wood into small wedges whilst uttering a magical charm over them as each one was thrown into the sea, and as each one hit the water they transformed into great fire ships; sailing out to burn the Armada.

The folklore surrounding Sir Francis Drake also includes his deep association with the Wild Hunt. Sometimes he is seen as leading the ghostly pack of Wisht Hounds', and at others he is the riding companion of the Hunt's more traditional leader; the Devil. In some Stories Drake rides in a spectral black coach, drawn by black, headless horses and followed by a great pack of black, otherworldly hounds with eyes burning red in the night. Sometimes his coach horses are seen with their heads, and have eyes blazing like hot coals.

One such story tells of a young maid, running desperately across the moors to escape an evil man on horseback she is being forced by her adoptive family to marry. Upon reaching a remote crossroads, and collapsing there in exhaustion, the ghostly pack of hounds and horse drawn coach approach from the darkness. Stopping at the crossroads, a man steps out of the coach, and the young woman recognises him to be the ghost of Sir Francis Drake.

He enquired of the young woman, why she was out on the moor alone and in a state of desperation and exhaustion, and she told him of her plight. Drake pulled from beneath his cloak a box and a cloth, and gave these to the young woman telling her to continue gently on her way, and not, under any circumstance, to look back.

The maid did as she was instructed, and when her pursuer reached the crossroads, he asked of the dark figure in the coach if he had seen a young maid passing by. Drake asked the man to step into his coach, and as he did, its door shut fast and the coach and hounds disappeared back into the darkness. The man was never to be seen again, and it is said that when morning came, his horse was found at the remote crossroads and had apparently died of fright.

According to research by the Devonshire cunning man Jack Daw, there is said to be a family line of Pellars, descended from the girl who encountered the spirit of Sir Francis Drake on the Moor. Their powers, it is claimed, are derived from the gift of the box and cloth he had given to her on that night.”

—

Silent as the Trees:

Devonshire Witchcract, Folklore & Magic

by Gemma Gary

[breelandwalker]

Newly Restocked!

The first week was so busy that I had to order more books! The good news is that all three of my titles are now restocked and ready to ship worldwide.

Grovedaughter Witchery - My bestselling book of practical tips, tutorials, and common-sense advice for building your craft without burning your house down. Best of all, it's completely secular and suitable for practitioners of any path and all experience levels!

The Sisters Grimmoire - A whimsical volume of fairy-tale spells based upon the works of The Brothers Grimm, with a little something for every occasion. Learn to ward your home, draw in luck or love, banish unwanted spirits or intruders, and cast various sorts of divinations. There's also a chapter of less-then-friendly spells, for those who are so inclined.

Pestlework - An ideal book for the potionmaker in your coven! This little book contains over a hundred recipes for oils and powders that you won't find anywhere else, including many of the powders sold in the shop!

Stop by today and add a little magic to your personal library. 🪄📔

[leavesofolive]

🌞🧹🌻Hearth Witch Tips!🌻🧹🌞

03: Know your house!

After figuring out the basics of general witchery, most people end up leaning towards the path or paths that call out to them. For some, including myself, the path that draws us in is that of the hearth.

Let’s start by answering a simple question: what is hearth witchery?

A hearth witch focuses on the protective, healing, and warming magicks of the home and hearth. Many times, this also includes practices from other branches such as kitchen craft, folk magick, and even green witchery should the home in question have a garden! To create a proper protected and positive home, a witch must be capable of understanding and working with the energies of the house, handling and cooperating with spirits residing within the house, and caring for both the home and its residents, be they animals, people, or plants.

Because this path in the craft isn’t always as widely discussed as some of the other more mainstream ones, it can sometimes be difficult to figure out where to begin. If you look back at the history of the craft, it’s actually rather surprising that this path isn’t more well-known! Most witches understood how valuable utilizing their personal sanctuary was, since the rest of the world was so dead-set on making things dangerous. Luckily, more and more books are coming out about this in the modern day, but most are just filled with what to do after you already know the basics. (I do, however, highly recommend the book “House Magic” by Aurora Kane. There's a lot of good information within its pages!)

                         -------------------------------------------------

With that introduction out of the way, let’s hop into today’s Hearth Witch Tips!

The first thing to learn within this path, hands-down, has got to be getting to know your home. I don’t just mean the part you can see, either!

Each and every house is alive. The various energies from the place it sits upon, the materials its made out of, the people who have lived there both past and present, and even the weather patterns and historical events that its lived through all play a role in what your house is and has grown into.

Of course, that also means that we, as the current residents of the home, can also influence the house! But before we can know what direction to steer the energy, we first have to know where the home is currently at, as well as where its been.

I suggest by beginning with the initial, simple tasks of observing your house’s physical state first. Walk from room to room and write down a list of what you see. What color are the walls right now? What condition are the floors in? Is the insulation up to par? How about the doors and windows, what are they like? Are there any natural creaks and groans coming from the house?

Let it speak to you! Many of these signs will begin to open the door to learning its unique story!

To learn the rest of any history you can scrounge up, try doing some research. Most local libraries no longer have records on local homes and histories, but the information can still be found by calling the city and requesting it. If anything particularly interesting has occurred in the house, it’ll most likely be documented!

Once the current physical state and the history have been discovered, it’s time to delve into the more spiritual side of the house! Spend some time meditating in each house. Take the time to tap into those physical aspects that you found earlier on and let the house tell you its tale from there. Feel the energy of the home and how it plays with your own. Let the two energies influence one another, see what happens when you go with the flow!

The biggest part of hearth witchery isn’t just knowing the house, but trusting it! There have been many times since I’ve moved here where I’ll know something is wrong before it even goes wrong in the first place because my home will tell me. As a bonus, when you’ve properly established your relationship with your house, the home will be much more open to your influence and far more accepting of the energy you feed it as well. It’s a win-win!

Happy witching!

[oh-writing-my-writing]

It all starts with the spoon.

It’s the biggest and woodiest of all spoons. Of course, it seems ordinary in Sam Winchester’s hands, as he stirs the pink, gurgly fluid, but that doesn’t stop it from being the Biggest and the Woodiest of all the spoons who’ve ever spooned. (Although, that, sadly, is not the story here, so we must move on, with its tales of spoon-y glory, untold yet never forgotten.)

After the spoon, comes the spell. Fairly simply recitation - and minimal, in its ingrediental needs, when scaled against its prolific glory. It had been easy for Sam to collect all the elements, and deposit them ceremoniously into the water - chanting the entire time, as he stirred a steadily growing pink mixture.

But then, after long, hard years of subjection to the grueling task of being around Dean Winchester and Castiel when they’re around each other, Sam’s come to believe that ‘ease of doing things’ apparently obeys the theory of relativity as well.

He doesn’t have a cauldron, or sadly, a witch hat - but what he does have, is a bathtub, and it seems to be working, because what he also has, is will.

The will to trip his brother and best friend face-first into their happy ending. The will to make them stop - the silent pining, the silent hurting, the silent optical-intercourse, all of it - and the will to do it himself, because someone has to, and eleven years have proven that it’s not going to be them.

Oh, well. As the saying goes, where there’s a will, there’s a loose page of handwritten instruction in your handbook of witchery, and eventually, potent, gooey love potions brewing in your bathtub.

Everything’s on track, Sam decides, taking a step back to admire his progress. The pink matches that of the picture finally - the cursive on the page labeling it hot magenta, and it’s gotten as thick as jelly. He reasons it’s time for the final ingredient.

And then - as he reaches for the crushed Naked Man Orchids on the slab, maybe a tad bit too far on the other side of the tub - it all starts to go wrong.

*Crashthumpbang - plop!*

***

It’s not like Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub could have done it. It’s not like Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub could have extended one of Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub’s feet, just the right distance, and pulled back at the exactly right moment to trip Sam with such intricate finesse, that he fell straight in with the page and the spoon clutched, and still could not, for the sake of his pink-soaked hair, figure out how. It’s not like Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub was prone to such vile tendencies of fooling beautiful, flannel-clad, wooden-spoon-wielding Sam Winchesters, into falling into Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub.

But let’s just say, Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub wasn’t completely displeased by it. And let’s just add, for the sake of adding things to previously said things, that there may have been hidden, a smirk of untraceable origins, in one of Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub’s tacky pink swirls.

***

“What the -” Sam splutters, dredging himself up halfways. A viscous magenta drips off of him, making him shudder. His first instinct is to see if the spell’s still readable - but of course it’s not. It’s blotted out entirely in pink, and sags.

He tries to straighten further, but it’s an awkward fit. Or rather, it should’ve been. Something about all this weird, feels pleasant.

Next, Sam checks in on the crushed petals he’s definitely blaming for this accident, and finds them missing. But they’d obviously been there when he’d been trying to reach them. Which meant -

Oh.

So, Sam had taken them along, as he fell.

The potion is complete, and for the past entire minute, Sam’s been curled up in it. (Feeling increasingly, and distractingly, at peace with his surroundings.)

Perfect.

***

Dean finds him two hours later, nestled in the bathtub with his eyes closed, entirely clothed, and coated in pink goo. Panic fades when Sam slowly opens his eyes and flashes a silly smile, and he snorts in disbelief.

“The hell kinda bath soap is that!” Swearing under his breath, he steps closer. It begins to sink in that there’s something off about the entire scene. Clearly, it’s not a bath - the door was unlocked. But what else would his brother be doing in a bathtub?

Sam doesn’t answer in words, and Dean’s yet to learn the language of sleepy, singsong hums.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you,” He pauses. Sucks in a breath, cautiously. Sam looks unharmed - sounds drugged. “Do you need help getting out? Sammy, are you okay?”

“I’m wonderful.” Sam informs him, words uttered in a drawl Dean usually associates with a very, very drunk Sam. “There’s no place I’d rather be, and no one else I’d rather be with.”

“Who’re you with?” Dean narrows his eyes. That’s cheesy - even by his brother’s standards.

Sam exhales with a pitched scoff, as if amused. As if Dean’s the one being ridiculous right now. As if the answer’s all-too-obvious, and Dean’s being an idiot to even ask. And so, he doesn’t deign him with an answer, choosing instead to gently trace the edge of the bathtub with a finger, sighing heavily, and closing his eyes again.

Dean stares, absolutely lost, for a beat. And then runs to get Cas.

***

Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub, feels Sam’s absence, the moment Castiel and Dean pull him out. It takes them all their strength too - and even with his arms draped around their shoulders, each takes considerable time getting a leg out.

Once on the ground, they drag a mostly unconscious Sam Winchester to what Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub hears them call bed. It makes no sense, for he could just have lain in Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub, and been happier to show for it.

But apparently, for humans, there is a thing as too much love. Fortunately, sentient bathtubs who don't believe in pronouns, don't suffer from such ailments.

***

“Hey.” Sam enters the kitchen on his own two feet, at nine, the next morning. He looks fresh, and free of hot pink spells.

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning, Sam.” Cas looks at him, inspecting, as he sits down at the table and Dean pushes a plate in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

“Normal.” Sam shrugs. Cas lifts his eyebrows, and Dean looks up from his plate. “Not dizzy.” He clarifies, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t go running today. Took a shower.”

Cas nods in acknowledgement, and it’s Dean's turn to fix him with a serious look. “A shower?” It’s going to be some time before he trusts his brother by himself in a bathroom - weird as it may sound. If yesterday had been a spell - and Cas believes it had - there’s no knowing if it’s worn off yet.

“Yeah, Dean. A shower.” Sam returns, frowning. Mildly, he wonders why that’s the part of the sentence Dean chooses to focus on. “Thanks for not cleaning up the mess yesterday, by the way.” He adds, sarcastically. “Really great way to start the day.”

“You’re old enough to drain the tub, bitch.”

“Jerk. And by the way, not a tub.”

Dean nets his eyebrows in a scowl. “How’s it not a tub?”

“That’s enough.” Sam rolls his eyes. Dean tried too hard to be funny, sometimes. As if he doesn’t get it. “Not an it, either.”

Dean groans, because sonuvabitch, Sam’s still nuts - and buries his face in his hands. Which is strange. Cas seems to be avoiding showing his own surprise, and steps into the conversation tentatively. “Then, what is - ?”

“Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub.”

Dean and Cas exchange a look.

They look horrified enough for Sam to know they’re overdoing a joke. He laughs, good-naturedly. “Next thing, you’re going to tell me you don't know that I’m marrying Casey Clawfoot, the Clawfoot Tub.”

[bloodstrength]

*  𝙶𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚃𝙾  𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙼𝚄𝙽  ::

NAME ::  Sam/Samu PRONOUNS ::  She/They HEIGHT :: 5′2″ BIRTHDAY ::  T-today.. ( 7/7) 

AESTHETIC :: Cottage Core, Witchery, Goth, Soft, Goblin ?? , Rock ?? eat rock. , The whole Moon.  . LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO :: Rewind - Why Mona   FAVOURITE MUSE(S) YOU’VE WRITTEN :: Stocking Anarchy, Celestia Ludenberg, Ryuko Matoi

*  𝙶𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚃𝙾  𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚃  ::

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO TAKE ON THIS MUSE :: I use to write Ryuko way back in like 2013-2015. I felt such a hard connection with her and I wanted to feel it deeper by exploring her as the Anime came out. It was liberating to feel so care-free and badass. yet at the same time it helped me deal with the mental issues I was having at the time. 

WHAT ARE YOUR FAVOURITE ASPECTS OF YOUR CURRENT MUSE :: Ryuko is Determined. I love her with all my heart and deep within me she’s a comfort muse. I write her from the perspective of one who is learning that there is another way forward aside from nothing but bunting at the obstacle until it breaks or until you break. One who’s learning past her traumas and is realizing that it’s okay to lean on both newfound family and friends. -- very much like myself irl. 

WHAT’S YOUR BIGGEST INSPIRATION WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING ::  I form .. really emotional attachments to my muses and how I write them. They’re also my escape from reality when it becomes overwhelming. I suppose my biggest inspiration is the unwritten tale where the original incarnation of the character left off. 

FAVOURITE TYPES OF THREADS :: Slice of life, Anything where the Characters find some sense of self discovery. Angst is always fun but-- only to the point of where something is gained and learned in return, y’know ? I also adore the idea of just.. characters getting over their walls and discomforts. That slow burn self-healing and triumph. 

tagged by :: @kiryuiegerin ( Nee-san <3) ​

tagging :: You <3,  @tacet-nix

[allthingsdarkanddirty]

The Coven is on a rescue mission... Can they find a way to save Grams?Meddling in Magical Pursuits by Brenda Trim brings back the Midlife Witchery Series on June 5!

Preorder with One-Click: 

When Grams is kidnapped as part of a nefarious plot, the Backside of Forty is plunged into a world they aren't prepared to navigate...

To rescue their beloved Grams, the coven will stop at nothing, even if it means a wild journey through mystical markets and The Library of All Knowledge. Meanwhile, the goddess Artemis would rather the ladies focus on her priorities, none of which have anything to do with Grams's predicament.

As they uncover Artemis's secrets, conflicting motives begin to appear. Trouble finds the witches no matter where they go, and soon the Backside of Forty finds itself working with the Pleiades to uncover the truth about the Fountain of Youth before it's too late.

But saving the fountain from falling into the wrong hands could mean losing Grams, and the coven isn't willing to make that sacrifice. Can they find a way to make it all work with the help of their midlife magic? Find out in this captivating tale of supernatural sisterhood, mystery, and the importance of family.

#teaser #teasershare #bookteaser #sneakpeek #preorder #bookpreorder #comingsoon #pwf #paranormalwomensfiction #midlifewitchery #meddlinginmagicalpursuits #magicalmidlfe #midlifefiction #midlifeheroine #supernaturalfiction #paranormalfiction #womensfiction #reading #books #bookbuzz #bookclub #readers #booklovers

About Brenda:

A USA Today bestselling author, Brenda loves everything paranormal. She has co-authored over twenty-five books in the best-selling Dark Warrior Alliance series, as well as the Hollow Rock Shifters series. She also has best-selling solo titles readers are raving about. Brenda created worlds that feature dangerously handsome heroes and feisty heroines. With the help of popcorn and candy, she takes dragons, fairies, witches, vampires, and so much more and brings them to life. She lives in Texas with her husband and three kids who fuel not only her heart but her life. If she's not writing, she's reading, traveling, or knee-deep in projects with her husband and five sisters. She encourages readers to Dream Big. If your dreams don't terrify and electrify you then they aren't big enough!  

Follow Brenda! Amazon: https://amzn.to/3nm4TTN BookBub: https://bit.ly/3lkCvQp Facebook: https://bit.ly/2SvQHte Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3lcKHCb Instagram: https://bit.ly/33yg5oM Twitter: https://bit.ly/2StFQQH Website: https://www.brendatrim.com

[theessaflett]

Tiffany Aching: The Perfect Introduction to Witchery

Once, every so often, but not so very often that it stops being exciting, a reader comes across a book that says exactly what they need to hear in that very moment. 

It’s a feeling of surprised recognition; of being seen. Someone out there, either the writer or the characters they have created, know what it is like to be you, right down to the fabric of your soul. Sometimes that feeling can be disquieting – the only  character I’ve ever read with exactly the feelings of vague existential dread I know all too well did not get a happy ending, which felt like a rather alarming prophesy -  and sometimes it can be a blissful relief. That someone, somewhere, gets it. 

In my 19 years or so of being an avid bookworm this has only happened to me a handful of times, but every time has been special. The Thirteenth Tale and I Capture The Castle came along in my early teens when I was wondering if anyone else felt slightly lonely a lot of the time and like books were easier companions than people. Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit popped up in my life when I was despairing about coming to terms with my sexuality and my religious background. (In fact, I secretly read it in church during a particularly boring sermon with a feeling of rather illicit thrill.) Shiver appeared as if on cue when I was a sixteen -year- old despairing of ever finding a book series with a sensible protagonist. Just when I was wondering if there were any women writing in folkloric academia I stumbled across Georgina Boyes’ brilliant Imagined Village on a library shelf, and when I was trying to cope with stress and my mental health at university Nora Robert’s Dallas series was a huge comfort as I imagined the protagonist Eve forging forward with an unstoppable confidence and power. 

But before any of these books, before any of these discoveries, there was a nine-year-old who wandered around the countryside imagining she could control the weather and who was convinced that there were fairies in the hills. And there was a nine-year-old called Tiffany Aching. 

I don’t remember an awful lot about being nine, but I do remember an overwhelming feeling of impatience and mild irritation that people were insisting on treating me like I was, well, eight. Life as a home-educated only child in a sleepy country village suited me very well, and by the time I had reached nine I was being taught about life by a variety of tutors of varying levels of eccentricity. (The art lessons taught by a retired teacher in her front room were perfectly safe; the lessons in experimenting with home plumbing using a rusty saw from a retired photographer were possibly not.) I enjoyed conversing with all these ad-hoc tutors about lots of different topics, and if I came across a word I didn’t know I only had to look it up in the giant, battered red dictionary that was shelved next to the fish tank. (I only regretted this once, when after an over-dinner remark about me from a teasing friend of the family I looked up the word ‘precocious’ and then swore that family friend was now my enemy for life.) Other children my own age tended to find me a bit odd and I tended to find them a bit loud. I liked reading, and writing, and standing in the sea pretending I was a selkie. 

…It’s not exactly surprising, then, that when the audiobook of Tiffany Aching’s first adventure, The Wee Free Men, made its way into our car CD player it was love at first listen. Here, finally, was a nine-year-old like me! A nine-year-old that spoke in intelligent sentences – I immediately made sure to memorise the word susurration – didn’t rely on grown-ups and saved the day and the stupid boy at the end of the book. The CD was practically worn out within the year and I still hear the voice of Tony Robinson narrating it whenever I read a passage from the book in a way that is just a little bit unnerving.  I re-read it today for the first time in about twelve years for this homework and was struck by how much I wanted to dismiss the possibility of such a young girl being such a capable hero as impossible. My younger self hadn’t thought it was impossible; I’d thought it was practically the only book that showed how smart children under the age of ten could actually be. 

Self-identification through the protagonist aside, The Wee Free Men also was my first experience with the concept of witchcraft. As I’ve explored Paganism the last few years it’s been a surprise to discover that the witchery I thought of as ‘Tiffany Aching’s witchcraft’, presuming that it largely came from Pratchett’s imagination, was in fact just plain old witchcraft, very little fiction about it. As ever, the brilliance of Pratchett’s writing came from his real-life inspiration, and the believability of the rituals and supernatural ideas found in the Tiffany Aching series is down to their deep roots in traditions hundreds of years old. I have to say I’m thoroughly impressed with how Terry Pratchett managed to wind his plot round the crucial basics of witchcraft as it’s practised by those in the modern world, most notably the most important rule of all: And It Harm None, a theme that regularly comes up throughout the series. Growing up, thanks to Tiffany Aching, I didn’t think of witches as evil despots who cackled, boiled children in cauldrons and owned flying monkeys. I thought that they were clever, thoughtful women who knew that thinking first and talking second is always a good idea and that it’s never helpful to lose your temper or your courage, and it has to be said that as I increasingly meet witches in real life that seems to be quite a fair representation. (Even if they don’t tend to wear pointy hats, not even mostly invisible ones.) 

The Tiffany Aching books gave me a sense of confidence and a sense of identity when I needed it. If I ever have a daughter, I think my present for her ninth birthday is already decided.

[scotiaeire]

We were all heathens once...

An article on ritual sacrifice and eating of dogs got me thinking. I do that sometimes. Think. Doesn’t always work out well but, meh. Old age allows for some meandering and blethering.

Besides. It’s my blog. I can say what I like, so...

Y’know, christianity is an incredibly young belief system. And for Europeans, it doesn’t actually belong to us. Since I’m not wasting time on a potted history of a belief system I was never raised in nor am particularly interested in, just know that. It doesn’t belong to, stem from, or align with, Europe. Even though they did manage to force a square  peg into a round hole...

There was a time the whole global population was pagan in one form or another and in the timespan of human history, that wasn’t so long ago, yet it *was* a very long time that we were just that..all pagans.

To identify myself if folks ask, I call myself “heathen”, a word that simply once meant “heath dweller”. Now it’s come to mean Scandinavian or Norse paganism. (unless you’re christian, in which case for you it means anyone not christian).

Other folks call themselves “pagan”. *shrug* Same diff. It means we’re attempting to live according to the belief systems of our ancestors, and having to (and in most cases struggling to) adapt their methods of ritual and lifestyle and mindsets for the world we live in today.

It shouldn’t be so hard tbh. Just “pretend” christianity never happened. Most of Europe would still be heathen. It would have evolved over time, with each passing generation and technological advancement, because of course nothing remains static, or it dies.

I’m not going to say I can tell you what the world would be like had the religions stemming from the Middle East not overrun the Western world. Sweden was the last European nation, if I remember rightly, to be forcibly converted to christianity, and still there are pockets of heathenism within the country that have never taken to the conquering faith.

In other nations, such as my own Scotland, a strange amalgamation of traditional Celtic paganism absorbed the church teachings and just got on with it. Thus, the goddess Bride became Saint Brigit, etc, and if you want a prime example of how all that works, take a read at the Carmina Gadelica and other literary collections of folklore up to and including the traditional songs of the Highlanders.

But I was never christian. I was born into a heathen family. It wasn’t a bed of roses. I had the bullying (which included a teacher spitting at me as she walked past) after my parents raged at the headmaster that in no manner was I to be included in morning prayer, lunch grace or assembly prayers.

At the time, it just embarrassed me and made of me an outcast. I hated it. As I grew and found my own heathen path, I was grateful. I see quite a few ex christians struggle with feelings of guilt for “leaving the faith behind” (hint: it was never *your* faith. It’s a foreign one, if you are European or Scots, English, Welsh or Irish) or who can’t quite shake the “sin” shit that was drummed into them.

I see others who, having no roots in heathenry or their native paganism, struggle to find out what they can learn from.

I’m not here to give advice but I’d advise going back to history books, removing the jaundiced eye of any christian authors from the facts if you can, and take it from there. Also, archaeology is your friend here. Folks and fairy tales. Sagas, Eddas, Old Irish Tales. Ancient songs that are traditional to your country. It’s a start. (So aye, I did give advice. Sorry. Ye can take it or leave it, no skin off my nose)

We can’t (sadly) live the lives of our ancestors because, frankly, the powers that be won’t let us. Whereas once, animals would be ritually sacrificed then feasted upon at certain times of year, now the animal cruelty folks’d be visiting your door and you’d be fined or arrested. (Another hint: you get round that by raising meat livestock. Vegetarian heathens, I have no advice for ye’s sorry. Heathenism is an animistic path that doesn’t preclude the consuming of sacred animals. And if you’re actively looking to your ancestors for inspiration, this *is* the type of thing they practiced)

We can’t go to war on our enemies, because governments got the Sole Right to do that, without us having an actual say in who our enemies really are.

Who, today, can *truly* erect a Nidthing Pole (curse pole) on the perimeter of your enemies property without being, again, arrested. Note also the interference of the State in just how pagan or heathen you can actually *be*....

So heathenry has to adapt and change to fit with how we are *allowed* to live these days. And therein lies the shame..the majority allow the minority to dictate how we can live, worship, and be spiritual.

So we do what we can. In quite a few countries, proclaiming yourself as heathen can be actually dangerous. So you keep on the down-low and keep your head down about it and practice quietly, or in secret.

Other places are more tolerant but I  have noticed that even though they are “on the outside”, the reality is that if you are openly heathen you will often encounter a backlash from christians or other faiths not pagan on more than one occasion.

And you’ll undoubtedly be painted as some kind of demon/devil/evil person. And it takes some kind of courage to stand against that, to tell people without it disintegrating into a pub brawl, that you’ve the fucking *right* to be who you are when it comes to your faith, and if that means following the faith of your ancestors, nobody has the right to prevent it.

Just, y’know, when you are following the faith of your ancestors, do them justice, eh? Make them proud of you. Let them see that you’re not defaming their ways.

Despite how my posts might appear, I’m a “live and let live” woman. You leave me be, and I’ll do the same for you.

My own personal mindset is that I don’t “do” eclecticism, simply because I feel it’s a bit of an insult if I’d been, say, performing rites to Thor then throwing in a bit of Dianic witchery (Italian) or the like. “Hello Thor, Big Fella. Meet Diana”. Nah. Not gonna work out there...

I’m no purist either though. If christianity hadn’t been forced on some of our ancestors, heathenry would have adapted, evolved and changed over time. But the *roots* of it would have remained. The pantheons would have been unlikely to have meshed with other pantheons, as did the Celtic and Roman deities in some parts of the British Isles. Chiefly, England.

The practices though, would have changed and so we shouldn’t feel downhearted when the State states (sorry) ye can’t go out and blood eagle your worst enemy or shove that Nidthing Pole up in your annoying neighbour’s back garden. If it’s hexery you’re into there are much more subtle ways, if you’re a woman. If you’re a heathen man, you might want to employ a woman to do the job for ye. Ergi, and all that...

Because times have changed we can sometimes feel adrift, not knowing quite how to *be* heathen in a modern world that increasingly shrinks our freedoms to even live.

But there are ways. The article I shared previously to this post spoke of sacrifice. In pre christian, pre nanny State days, sacrifices were serious matters and serious events. They *meant* something of note.

I have to be honest here, “sacrificing” a bowl of fruit or a bunch of flowers isn’t quite the same. Ye can say what you think about that but it’s not.

Because if you need to sacrifice anything to get a god’s attention, if you’re desperate (been there, done that) then what you give *has* to have meaning, *has* to be hard to give, and *has* to be worthy of that god. Or it means nothing.

No, I’m not advocating animal or human sacrifice. But if the thing you give has little meaning to you (and don’t tell me a bowl of fruit or bunch of flowers means the world to you...) then why should a god listen to you?

Anyway...heathenry was more than the rituals of sacrifice, hexing your enemies and going to war. In domestic life little daily rituals kept the household running smoothly. When the partner of a woman left on a journey, for example, she’d sew charms into his clothing for protection and safe return. The hearth of a home..the firepit or fireplace..has a wealth of rituals surrounding it, probably the most prolific of the domestic magics, perhaps apart from spinning and weaving. Charms to keep your children safe, spells to help older folks thrive, all were taken care of in fine heathen fashion.

So if nothing else, that, at least, we can return to.