Happy Halloween, my little witches! Eat candy, fuck shit up, make mama proud ❤️

howitzerliterarysociety:

I believe in simple pleasures. Tobacco. Orgasms. Crushing enemies to dust.

Coffee Shop Overheard

But honestly, though…

Does anyone know what these are?

ioqayin:

Once again, not all witches are the same. We are not a collective. If someone wants to sign off their freedom in exchange for power, that’s on them. I wouldn’t suggest it, and it seems stupid to me to sign off your freedom in exchange for power. 

This is something I have been interested in for awhile, and while I have yet to watch the new Sabrina (I plan to start it tomorrow), I am familiar with such arrangements. Or rather, trading “freedom” for “power.” Now, of course I can only speak personally — as @ioqayin points out, “we are not a collective” — but I have found such agreements to be less constricting than they sound. What similar arrangements I have been part of would be better categorized more as “you scratch my back, I scratch yours” than Faustian bargain. It’s not so much a question of selling your soul, but selling your time: “allow me this and I will perform what is asked without question.” Which sounds much more terrifying than it is. But in such instances you are acting only as an instrument.

For instance, one such deal required me to perform a ritual. What it was for doesn’t matter, it was none of my business. I gathered the supplies, performed the ritual, and what was done was done. Thus, such deals are not so contingent on what you are asking, but of whom you are asking it: is the spirit you are consulting a trusted spirit, or did you pick it from some internet roster? Does precedent suggest that they are untrustworthy, prone to misleading, a (malevolent) trickster? Just as with any deal made, with whom you make the deal is far more important than whatever is being dealt. There’s a (generally; not accounting for outliers) a difference between asking for money from your mother and asking the same of a loanshark. Know where to put your trust and never deal out of desperation, lest you risk being taken advantage of.

Additionally, negotiate when possible. As they say, “there’s more than one way to skin a cat,” just as there are other ways to get what you seek. This relates to the previous remark about desperation: if they know how badly you want it (and they will), they know what you’ll pay to have it. As such, always be wary of “shortcut” bargains, i.e. those which promise great (unspecified) power for a (suspiciously) benign offering. Consider why a spirit with such power at their disposal would have any use for you. It helps to be specific: if you will ask for power, ask that it be lent and to what end you mean to use it. Basically, rent power, don’t buy it: it’s cheaper. And assume that grandiose requests will always require a greater expense, even if it is misleadingly phrased.

Basically what it boils down to is reciprocity and, as such, something to keep in mind is the duration of the repayment: to barter (or to exchange something in a moment, tit-for-tat) does not build relation as would a gift exchange, whereby you receive something now with the expectation that it will be paid back later. In instances where the spirit with whom you are dealing is trusted, the latter arrangement can benefit your relationship. Conversely, the dangers of dealing with untrustworthy spirits can be partially mitigated by engaging in the former.

That’s my take, anyway.

alegriavida:

qedavathegrey:

qedavathegrey:

qedavathegrey:

qedavathegrey:

I’ve decided that 2019 is the year for ladies with mustaches. Fuck conventional beauty, embrace the Kahlo. That goes for unibrows, too. If your lover don’t like it, they ain’t the one.

The trans sisters with dysphoria or those who may be endangered for compromising their passability are exempt, but the rest of you risk disappointing Aunty Q.

@hellboundwitch Beards? Also en vogue.

Ladies who can’t grow one? Better bust out that eyebrow pencil and draw yourself a John Waters.

Can we include huge sideburns too? 

It will be a complete embrace of the sideburn. People will be trying to grow theirs out to stay ~~en trend~~ and I cannot wait.

qedavathegrey:

qedavathegrey:

The air feels hollow tonight. Ideal room for restless spirits to fill. Be careful out there, kiddos.

And then I had horrifying dreams.

I’m going to record it here for posterity’s sake, and as it was one of my usual visceral and cinematic dreams. Feel free to disregard. I intended to add a ~read more~ but can’t seem to figure out how to do that on mobile.

* * * * *

The dream began with a police roadblock. I pulled up behind another car, waiting for a go-ahead of whatever sort. I’m not sure what precipitated the events, but the driver in the car in front of me must have seen something, because they slammed the accelerator in reverse, smashing into the hood of my car. Just as it did, I see a red car in the rearview mirror approaching at high speed, and it proceeds to ram me from behind without slowing, sandwiching me between the two cars. The policeman who had been there had vanished, and the red car reversed only to come up to speed and hit me again. I could not understand why it was happening and, watching the driver in the rearview mirror, he spoke to me through it. He was full of cold rage, and promised that he would kill me, violently, as the woman in the passenger seat fawned over him unbothered by his cruelty. It was bizarre. But he kept pushing until my car had been moved aside and he continue forward through the blockade.

Needless to say, I was rattled, but generally unhurt. I was more stricken by the bizarreness of the incedent than anything, and resolved to put it behind me, to put his threats out of my head, being that I lacked witnesses to corroborate my story. It was only a few days later when I saw them again, the couple, in the thrift store. They hung on each other, completely absorbed in one another that they never even noticed me. But even then, the man had this aura of evil. His penchant for violence was apparent, as if he could transform at any given instant into a monster. But, like I said, they never saw me. I waited by the storefront window for them to leave, to snap a photo so that I could have something to identify them. When they finally left, I raised my phone to the window and it became covered in filth. The glass was smudged with greasy, brown stains, with dust, and all I managed to capture were their blurred silhouettes. This time I was more than unnerved. I felt even more unsafe and, without any other option I could think of, I packed up and left town for an unknown amount of time.

Things are fuzzy here, as to how I came to be where I came to be, but that place was a university dormitory. It was an old building that seemed to spiral upward, so many stairs and little niches. Again, I’m not sure how I came to be there or why I was there so late at night, but climbing a short set, I found myself on a landing. There were some stuffed chairs with end tables, a large table and another set of stairs on the opposite side. Being so late, I was surprised to find a man sitting there, working. For lack of alternatives and perhaps a little afraid, I sat across the table from him. We started a conversation and developed an instant connection. He was handsome, funny, eccentric, an artist. Perhaps it was for narrative’s sake, but really I loved him in that moment and onward from there. He invited me to stay with him that night and, as far as I can tell, I never left. I met his roommate, another artist, who was just as beautiful with a penchant for vintage trenchcoats, Doc Martens and slouchy hats. She was just as welcoming and I developed a quick friendship with her, as well, and their other friend, a man with a beard whose sweater collection was expansive. He had the atmosphere of vinyl, cheap beer and poetry. Through some unknown magic, I had found this tribe of eccentrics and fallen madly in love with all of them, in one way or another. My past was forgotten. Or nearly so.

I was not sure how long I had been with them when the bearded man suggested an excursion to the statue garden. All of them loved the place and, being that I hadn’t yet seen it, they welcomed the opportunity to introduce me. And so we went, and it was a marvel to see. To call it a garden is an understatement: it was a whole park, complete with a dozen separate gardens, each themed and filled with towering statues of animals (I remember one being an enormous snail) and strange, surreal plants and carved stone heads. It was a marvel, really, and I was just as moved by it as they had been. We settled into one of the gardens and the bearded man, unable to ignore his curiosity any longer, finally asked me why it was that I had come to be in that place. And so I told them the story, and mentioned offhandedly the People. Since arriving, I had seen them now and again, standing backward on the other side of open doors or in the mirrors. Only one or two at a time, just standing there, facing away, slouching. To pass through the door would send them away. I had taken the place to be mildly haunted, but was generally unbothered. All of them grew anxious, as if I had confirmed what they had been seeing too, the woman being the most unnerved. We left the garden: the bearded man found his own way and my lover, his roommate and I took to walking down the street.

It was lined with the most exceptional Douglas-firs of absolutely monumental size, seeming to touch the clouds. We walked and talked, though the woman seemed removed from conversation, trapped in her mind. Thinking about the People, I was sure, but I let her think in hopes that she might come to terms with her anxieties. But she didn’t. Dark circles had formed under her eyes by the time we’d made it home, and we climbed those spiraling stairs. When we’d made it to the room, she went to her room and I followed my lover to his briefly. However, when I returned to the shared space, the door was standing ajar.

I crept around the edge to look through the mouth. It wasn’t right. Where normally the hallway would be, instead was the landing where I had met my love. And standing on it were the People, not the usual one or two, but six this time, standing in a haphazard semi-circle. All of them looked away, their backs facing me, slouching, men and women both. But there was something wrong — more wrong. A red light developed around them, staining the scene through the door a disconcerting red and pink. I closed the door.

But when I turned around, they were there, standing in the living room in their mirrored semi-circle. My heart was racing, and I passed through them to my lover’s door. I pulled the handle and found his bed had been pushed over to barricade the door, but the hinges swung the wrong way — what had been a push door, was now a pull door. I moved back slowly, and saw them there, piled beneath the bed: all three of my new loved ones, dead, with faces twisted in horror and agony. Blood ran and their eyes were glazed. My stomach churned and I tried not to sob. I turned around, ready to run, but the People were no longer six, only one.

He faced me, just a shadow backed by the orange glow of the streetlight through the window, slouched and long armed. He did not move and neither did I. And then there was only darkness.

That’s when I woke up.

qedavathegrey:

The air feels hollow tonight. Ideal room for restless spirits to fill. Be careful out there, kiddos.

And then I had horrifying dreams.