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Done by Chiara Bautista.
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I will be wild. I will be brutal. I will encircle you and conquer you. I will be more powerful than your boats and your swords and your blood lust. I will be inevitable.
Iphigenia, from A Memory of Wind by Rachel Swirsky.  (via civismundisum)
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Finders Keepers by Chiara Bautista ©
(Please leave credit … Ƹ̴Ӂ̴Ʒ)
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LOATHLY LADY: if you give me Sir Gawain I will 100% answer your question for you and before you say no consider this even owls get married so
KING ARTHUR: how does that relate to what our situation is
LOATHLY LADY: just think about it both my offer and owls
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Fox women...”Fox wives, writes folklorist Heinz Insu Fenkle (in a good article on the subject) are seductive creatures who "entice unwary scholars and travelers with the lure of their sexuality and the illusion of their beauty and riches. They drain the men of their yang -- their masculine force -- and leave them dissipated or dead (much in the same way La Belle Dame Sans Merci in Keats's poem leaves her parade of hapless male victims).”
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Truth.
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“...in your eyes fight fire with the white frost fox or maid, you make me groan...”
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Baba Yaga embodies the wild woman archetype. The feral, crone figure who does not finesse her lessons to make them easier for you to bear: “She is thought by some to be a dark goddess who symbolizes the death of the ego which is needed to achieve wisdom and, through this death, rebirth to a new life” (Chambers 2007). Her demesne is the forest far beyond mortal boundaries, an Underworld figure who lurks in the darkest part of ourselves. Of course, as the witch in the woods, her true role is as initiator and priestess. She is able to judge character instantly and has no patience for those who don’t deserve aid. She shows us how our darkest nature can be helpful in our fight against our greatest obstacles. Her aid won’t be pretty, it will change you forever, but it will also empower you and allow you to triumph and ensure your rightful place. 
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Hecate
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Cash book drawing.
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mythology meme | Slavic spirits & demons - lesovikha
Lesovikha is the female version and sometimes a companion of leshy, a magical protector of woodlands. The spirit’s true appearance is ambigious as she’s a shape-shifter and while some mortals describe her as a naked young girl as tall as a tree with green eyes and long shaggy hair or note that her body cast no shadow, others claim they’ve encountered her in the shape of a tiny raindrop. Lesovikha plays an important role in Slavic forest lore. She is a trickster who finds great joy in leading lone travellers astray, especially if they were caught making a fire in her forest sanctuary. Angered, she then follows these lost souls to ask what they desire most: fortune or a good life. If the travellers choose money, lesovikha rewards them with golden coins that turn into coals the moment they set foot outside her woodland realm. Hovewer, if they wish for a good life lesovikha honours her promise and the mortals enjoy success in all their endevours.
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Circe by KmyeChan
 I never turned anyone into a pig. Some people are pigs; I make them Look like pigs. I'm sick of your world That lets the outside disguise the inside. Your men weren't bad men; Undisciplined life Did that to them. As pigs, Under the care of Me and my ladies, they Sweetened right up. Then I reversed the spell, showing you my goodness As well as my power. I saw We could be happy here, As men and women are When their needs are simple. In the same breath, I foresaw your departure, Your men with my help braving The crying and pounding sea. You think A few tears upset me? My friend, Every sorceress is A pragmatist at heart; nobody sees essence who can't Face limitation. If I wanted only to hold you I could hold you prisoner.                                            
Louise Gluck
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Siren by JessiBeans
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Still one of my all time favorites! (via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IYQhRCs9IHM)
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We are not Northerners — damn Yankees, the men folks’ Confederate influence called them — and this we know without a doubt. I myself was always preened into believing I was a Southern child, born out of notions of gallantry and romance, but the fact is, I ain’t a low country belle and I’ve never picked a shred of cotton or been to a debutante ball.
We are not peaches.
And these mountain women before us were not delicate flowers or distressed coquettes. In these old heirloom hills, the women are as tough as the men, and then some. There was only one person Papaw was leery of, and that was Mamaw. No, you are not a peach, never mind how long you’ve thought you were or the times your daddy said so. No, you’re not. You are not easily bruised fruit. The blood in our veins is laced with old magic and the secrets of the noble savants before us.
We are the last of the granny witches.
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By Chiara Bautista.
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