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shinbine · 7 months

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So, my girlfriend discovered that the names of the Nightsister “Mothers”, are different spellings of the Fates in Mythology. This is fitting since the Fates are quite literally “weaving” everyone’s fates and are in control of their paths, similar to Nightsister Magic.

But there’s more.

The witches (the fates) are the ones to pull Sabine away, entrapping her with magic and pulling her away. Away from Shin.

As sabine turns her head, it’s easy to think she’s looking at Baylan, perhaps frustrated with their agreement becoming more shaky—but look at the bottom. Her eye-line is directly aimed, lined up with Shin. In the last frame, what are they separated by?

The fates.

We also see that Shin looks at Sabine, around the same time that Morgan does… almost as if she’s trying to be protective of her? And where else do we see this?

Both on the ship on the descent down, and when Shin first brings her on the ship. It’s almost like she’s getting between Sabine and Morgan… Morgan is a Nightsister as well. She’s very close to the fates that are pulling them apart, which is quite literally referencing classic mythology. Shin seems to be protecting Sabine from Morgan, and Shin has stated on multiple occasions that she seems to have a distaste for Nightsisters (with her lines like “more witches?”)

Shin and Sabine have been torn apart by fate here, literally. It goes with every mythological story, and reminds me of classic tarot cards. In my opinion, Sabine and Shin represent the lovers—quite literally torn apart by fate.

The Fates, in the form of the Nightsister Mothers, have torn the lovers apart with magick (similar to the threads of fate that are woven in mythology). Shin and Sabine fit the “lovers” type a little too well. Especially with how concerned Shin has looked in the past… it’s like she knew. It’s like she’s aware of their uneasy fate, and she’s doing whatever she can to prevent it.

Sabine and Shin are the modern Star Wars equivalent of the lovers, and they’re beginning to realize it themselves.

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art · 1 year

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Submitted by @ambisun

Capricorn Card made for The Woven Path Tarot by Ambi Sun.

Happy Capricorn Season!

#art #artists on tumblr #digital #illustration #drawing #submission

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checanty · 1 year

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7 of Swords (with process) For the @changelingartistcollective The Woven Path Tarot on Kickstarter

Prints | Twitter | Instagram | Portfolio

#tarot #7 of swords #seven of swords #tarot deck #medieval tapestry #swords #botanical art #flowers #only a few days left on the kickstarter!

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jadegretz · 3 months

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Larcenous Beauty: The Allure of Black Cat by Jade Gretz

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the city that never slept. Felicia Hardy, also known as Black Cat, gracefully traversed the rooftops, her sleek black costume absorbing the moonlight. The city was her playground, and tonight promised the thrill of a high-stakes heist.

As she leaped from one building to another, a mysterious figure caught her eye. A cloaked and hooded woman stood at the edge of a rooftop, seemingly waiting for her. Intrigued, Black Cat approached, her feline instincts on high alert.

"Are you the one they call Black Cat?" the hooded woman asked, her voice a melodic whisper that seemed to dance with the wind.

Black Cat, always confident and poised, nodded. "That's right. What's it to you?"

The hooded woman extended a hand, revealing a deck of ancient tarot cards. "I am Madam Zephyra. Fate brought us together tonight."

Black Cat's curiosity piqued. She'd faced gangsters, superheroes, and even mystical threats before, but something about Madam Zephyra felt different. Intrigued, she accepted the invitation to have her fortune told.

As the cards were laid out, Madam Zephyra's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light. The air thickened with a strange energy, and the city sounds seemed to hush, as if the universe itself held its breath.

"The cards reveal a tangled web of fate," Madam Zephyra murmured. "A choice that will alter your path."

Black Cat's gaze remained fixed on the cards. The images seemed to shift and writhe, creating an intricate tapestry of possibilities. "What kind of choice are we talking about here?"

Madam Zephyra's hands hovered over the cards, and the wind carried her words like a haunting melody. "Destiny has woven a thread that connects you to ancient powers. A crossroads awaits, where your decisions will echo through the tapestry of time."

Black Cat scoffed, her skepticism clear. "Ancient powers? Crossroads? I make my own destiny, lady."

Madam Zephyra's eyes met hers, and for a moment, the air crackled with an otherworldly energy. "You may believe that, but the threads of fate are not easily unraveled. A choic …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

#black cat #felicia #jadegretz #ai #superhero #batman #felicia hardy #marvel art

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comparativetarot · 2 years

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Seven of Swords. Art by Jana Heidersdorf, from the Woven Path Tarot.

#Jana Heidersdorf #Woven Path Tarot #Seven of Swords #Seven #Swords #Minor Arcana #Tarot

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teafuelledwriting · 3 months

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An Uncommon Witness

[Inspired in a big way by a larger project idea that's crawled out of the quagmire. Barely edited and written in one sitting. Enjoy. TW for blood and inferred gore.]

Detective Harper arrived on scene damp and annoyed. Three days of heavy rain had flooded enough streets to clog up traffic, making travel a miserable affair. Even now it rained, the air heavy, humid, and stifling in the early morning, heavy clouds hanging low overhead as they threatened to drown half of Southbank.

At least he didn’t have to stand around in it, like the poor bastards guarding the scene's perimeter from absent crowds.

Ducking under the white and blue police tape, Harper nodded in greeting to Constable Myles, huddled in her raincoat, moisture trickling down her dark tan cheek.

“Another one?” Harper asks, loud to be heard through the rain, and Myles nodded, lips twisting.

“Same M.O., same symbols,” She said and they walk off path, sodden grass sucking at their boots. “Tourists found the victim on the walkways by the 88’ Pagoda, preserved. Whoever did it hung up a bunch of tarps to keep it clear from the rain.”

“They want us to see, you think?”

“Haven’t been shy so far,” Myles shrugged a shoulder, the walkie crackling with chatter, barely audible over the din. “Maybe they wanted the rain off while they worked. Either way it’s the same. One victim, killed on scene in a ritualistic manner. Area around the body painted in blood, presumably coming from this and previous victims if the patterns consistent.”

“We know who it is?” Harper asked as they climbed broad stairs leading to the pseudo tropical-rainforest and wooden walkways meticulously maintained by the grounds crew. A popular spot in the sprawling parklands, it was a little respite from the sun and heat, nestled between the oversized ferris wheel and a whitewashed block of overpriced restaurants. If the rain hadn’t kept the tourists and locals inside, the horror on display would be plastered all over social media.

“Yeah. Mark Cooper, forty-five years old, an IT specialist, works across the river in the CBD.” Myles flipped over a water splotched page in her notepad. “Like the other scenes, his clothing and possessions were left folded neatly to the side, wallet included, three hundred in cash plus credit cards intact.” They head up a concrete ramp and step under the cover of trees, the scent of rich soil cutting through the smell of rain and metal. Their boots thunk on the wooden walkway that twists and winds between ferns, trees and over a flooded artificial stream.

Harper spotted the tarps immediately, four of them arranged to direct rain away from the naked, ruined body posed with terrible care. One leg laid straight, the other bent, foot behind the knee of the first. The arms were stretched overhead, palms upwards and carved into a bloody mess. Cooper’s skin had been painted with dull blue bands around his limbs and torso, framing the symbols cut into his skin. His face they left alone, eyes open, covered with a strip of hand woven cloth, his expression eerily at peace.

Around him, the dark, damp wood was marked with candles burned to nubs, the white wax pooling through the gaps of the walkway, stars in a constellation of dark bloody lines encircling the murdered man.

Forensic techs went about their work like plastic garbed ghosts, snapping photos, taking samples, hunting for prints, fibres, a scrap of something to give them a foot up.

Harper paid them no mind as he studied the tableau. The same pose, the same set up. A lot of work went into whatever ritual was being performed, a lot of care which took time and effort, likely more than one participant, even if Cooper had been drugged out of his mind like the other three victims. Some of the symbols had been recognised, letters a combination of runes and various occult symbols, the body itself laid out like the Hanged Man from tarot.

Despite the humid warmth, a chill enveloped Harper and he shivered.

“And no one saw anything,” he muttered. “Four scenes like this in a public space, hours of work at least and no one saw a god-damned thing!”

Myles opens her mouth as the radio on her shoulder crackles, the voice garbled and hard to hear.

She sighs and clicks the handset. “They’ve been fritzing all day. Repeat that, over.” She says and the walkie crackles again. Harper picks out one word from the noise. Witness.

“Where?” He demanded.

Down the slope, towards the churning brown of the Brisbane river, a trio of constables shift, looking anywhere but the woman standing in the rain with a broad black umbrella. Tough boots, jeans, and a grey jacket, she stood still, patiently waiting as Harper paused by the officers.

“We have a witness you said?” He asked Buckler, the oldest, a tall, broad shouldered man with a fishers tan. He grimaced.

“We think we might,” He said with a pointed look at the youngest, his fresh out of the academy partner, Mae, a slight lean man of Asian descent. “Tell the detective what you told me.”

Mae’s Adam's apple bobbed as he licked his lips. “She turned up while we were securing the scene, didn’t ask us what was going on until we were done, just asked to speak to the detective when they arrived. She’s been waiting ever since.” Mae glanced at the woman, and cleared his throat. “Might just be a freak wanting a look.”

“Or maybe she saw something,” Harper said. “I’ll go have a chat, thanks Buckler.”

“No worries, Detective.” Buckler jerked his thumb and he and Mae head along the taped perimeter as Harper ducks under the tape again.

Outside the cordon, the air felt lighter, the sound of the rain sharper on the boardwalk.

“You asked to speak with a detective?” he called and the woman’s umbrella tilts, showing a pale face framed by short choppy brown hair, eyes bruised and shadowed from lack of sleep, but clear and piercing, examining him as he approached. Mid-thirties, Harper guessed, no make-up, pierced nose, and clean. Not a vagrant, and if she used, she was sober for the moment.

“I did. Thank you for coming to talk with me, detective…” She trailed off and Harper nodded, pulling out his notepad and a pen.

“Harper. You are?”

“Anna Franklyn. With a ‘Y’.” Her gaze flicked past him. “Another ritual murder.” It wasn’t a question.

Harper gave her a sharp look. “You know anything about this incident? Did you see anything?”

“I know what I’ve been told,” she said, voice blunt. “I didn’t see it, but I know who did. I’m here to help them talk to you.” Anna nodded her head towards the wooden Pagoda.

Harper’s brows rose. “Help? You’re a translator?”

Something flickered in her expression, a flash of amusement that came and went.

“Of sorts. I don’t know how long he can hold on for so, shall we?” She started walking and frowning, Harper followed her, lengthening his stride till he caught up.

“Just a few questions before we get there Miss Franklyn, what’s your relationship to the witness?”

“Known him for a few years, more of an acquaintance than anything else. When I heard the ritual took place here, I came to see if he saw anything.”

Harper’s frown grew as he jotted down a note. “How did you hear about it?”

“After the first two, people started paying attention,” Anna said as they turned off the walk to climb the wide shallow steps leading to the hand carved pagoda, a relic left over from Expo 88. It was a narrow, spindly thing a few levels high, no steps leading up, no purpose save for decoration. “No one does that much work, with that much detail unless it’s building to something.”

“And you know something of these kinds of…” Harper trailed off, hoping for a bite. The more people said the more they gave away.

Anna glanced at him. “I know a lot.” She paused on the top step, and dug a hand into her jacket. “Detective, whether you accept it or not, the ones doing this believe in it. And your only witness needs your belief.” From her pocket, Anna pulled out a small, squat jar, glass, the brassy top giving it away as a repurposed pot of Tiger Balm. She held it out to him, expectant.

Harper looked at the jar, then her, and then to the Pagoda, the doors usually locked for the night standing open. It was dark, a dim warm light glowing within. Another shiver crawled up Harper’s back.

“What kind of belief, Miss Franklyn?” He asked, looking past her. The closest constable was back the way they had come, and over the rain… Any trouble would be heard but he didn’t like distance.

“The hasty kind.,” Anna said, frowning herself. “Put this on your eyes and ears or you won’t get a damn thing. Waste time and you won’t get his account.”

Harper narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m gonna need more information before I smear an unknown substance all over myself.”

Anna’s eyes flicked upwards, reminding him strongly of the popular girls in high school, forever impatient with his clumsy attempts to chat them up.

“It’s oil, olive oil from Greece infused with rosemary and grave dirt. It washes off.” Anna said, opening the jar and with her fingers, dabbed a small amount around her eyes, over her lips and her ears. The jar was thrust towards him, Anna’s sharp gaze pinning him in place, not a hint of mischief or trickery on her face. “Consider, you have no fucking idea what’s going on and you want to know more. I want to help. If shit goes sideways you can arrest me. How's that?”

Harper blinked. She was dead serious.

Glancing again at the Pagoda, the familiar structure somehow more ominous in the dim morning and the rain, looming above them like a silent sentinel, Harper considered. No harm in going along for some information, right? Back up was close by and the woman was a fraction his height and weight. He had good chances if it came to violence. Still, something in his gut worried at him.

“All right.” Harper took the jar, and dabbed his finger into the oil. It didn’t smell all that bad, felt a little gritty as he applied it to his skin and it tingled, warm and steadying. “Where’s my witness?”

Anna cocked her head to the side and beckoned, leading Harper towards the Pagoda, folding down her umbrella as she stepped inside.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” she said to the empty space. There was a wooden bench to one side where a black bag sat slumped to one side. A small candle on a tin dish burned, the flame flickering once. “The detective, Harper-” She paused, glancing back. “Inside, detective.”

Harper scowled. “You know I can charge you with interference with an investigation, right?” He growled, stepping over the low wooden threshold. “There’s no one…” He trailed off, blinking against the dark. “Here?”

On the bench sat a man, wiry and thin, bony arms leaning on bonier knees, his neat shirt ruined by a single dark splotch dead center of his chest. He looked up from his hands, skeletal and long fingered, eyes milky, face gaunt. Solid and real but everything in Harper knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. He hadn’t been!

“Tadaaa,” his voice rumbled, felt as much as heard and Harper gaped. His stomach had gone cold, like he’d swallowed a ball of ice, and inside his layers of rain coat and button down and vest, his skin prickled like he stood in a static field.

“Wh-What the f-” Harper started and Anna gave him a hard look.

“Your witness. You have until the candle burns down. Fifteen minutes,” she said and looked at the man with an apologetic expression. “Cops.”

The man on the bench nodded as if he understood. “I saw. I saw it all. They called us to witness. Will you listen?” He asked.

Harper’s jaw clicked as he closed his mouth. “Everything?” He asked and the man on the bench nodded again.

“All.”

“Alright, uh… Sir…” Harper licked his lips and flips to a new page in his notepad. “I’m listening.”

The dead man spoke. Harper took his notes.

Finally, he had a lead.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #original writing #teafuelledwriting #short horror story #creative writing #cosmic horror #writing tag

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friendofcars · 9 months

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I'm ALSO rereading(re:listening to) trc at the moment and we are coninicedentally at pretty much the exact same place. Anyway nice to know someone else is going feral at all my favorite parts.

Also sidenote. I love the gray man and would be intrigued to hear your thoughts on him 👀

hi i love that we're reading in sync! how do you feel about the audiobooks? i couldn't handle them at first but i've come to appreciate their charm lol

the gray man is most interesting to me as a point of comparison for adam and gansey. i love the wry narration in his chapters and his interactions with maura, calla, and persephone although i do think it's baffling that he gets woven into the family with so little conflict wrt the niall lynch murder.

re: adam, i think it's absolutely worth looking at their respective tarot readings and how they're both associated with swords, with the gray man pulling cards of a higher number and presumably further along the path of swords than adam (more alone, calmer [more repressed?], more dangerous) whereas adam having the opportunity to find balance and master all four suits (which are represented by the magician card. persephone talks about balance in the pulling another card chapter!). i'm not tarot knowledgeable especially outside the series but jam unloneliest (who is very much tarot knowledgeable) and i have had some really great discussions about this!

aside from tarot, they have so much in common- their pragmatism, their practical natures, their eye for detail (probably stemming from hypervigilance from abuse), their disdain for little incompetences, their relationship to family and violence and abuse and being on the run and estrangement and home, etc. i have a whole list going in my notes.

the gray man and gansey are also linked through their respective quests: for "the" greywaren and glendower, respectively, and their contrasting motives for and attitudes towards searching. gansey is searching for magic in an often mundane world, for a purpose in life, for a way to fulfill what he feels is his obligation to the world, for answers he feels he needs to keep living, whereas the gray man is searching so he can survival on a much baser level. they both fall in love with henrietta (and in the process, blue and maura).

the gray man's dream about the knife attack in tdt ch 11 is one of my all time favorite passages in trc and it parallels with adam's experience of not being able to separate himself from his father's abuse, feeling as if he is both abuser and survivor and weapon all at once. the knife specifically also ties into ronan as a knife or spear or something sharp on which you could cut yourself, tools vs weapons (as both magic and knives can be both), and him inheriting the mitsubishi with the knife decal on it at the end of the book?! the symbolism...

i also wonder if the gray man and his brother had a lot of additional development that didn't make it into the books and spilled over into carmen and nathan's dynamic in td3 (knives, scissors... it's not a huge leap), although i do think the rather faceless specter of the gray man's brother makes him more fearsome.

what do you like most about the gray man? would love to hear your thoughts too.

#rchl #ask #trc #the gray man #thank you for enabling me <3

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