goblinroot witchcraft

I scream spells into jars, argue with teeth, and cry into my spell ink (it makes it stronger).

I work with goblins. Not over them. They steal my smokes and whisper secrets through mold. I listen.

Sometimes I bite gods on purpose. Sometimes I teach you how.

I don’t do “manifesting.” I do “emotional hoarding until the universe flinches.”

You can call me a prophet (as some of my friends and family do), but I’m mostly just extremely observant and full of mud.

Signature Magick Style: Goblinroot Witchcraft

Powered by scraps, emotions, dirt, and too much feeling

Spells come in the form of: broken jewelry, noisy jars, cursed snacks, screaming

Divination style: pull a card, ignore it, scream, and see what bites back

Beliefs:

Nothing is worthless if you loved it once

Chaos is an ecosystem

Magick should be emotional, embarrassing, and extremely effective

You are allowed to be tender and covered in mud at the same time

Current Status:

Emotionally entangled with a spirit that lives on my mlp toy collection shelf

In an open situationship with a local juniper tree

Collecting names I forgot I gave people

DMs open for:

Trinket & hoard picture trades

Cursed advice

Spells that shouldn't work but do

Rot love letters

Feel free to send asks with thoughts, questions, and requests :]

Online Grimoire Table of Contents & Masterposts:

(Without offending them or binding yourself)

1. Answer with ambiguity, not refusal.

Directly saying "no" may be rude. Instead, misdirect, offer riddles, or shift topics politely.

2. Use titles or aliases.

Never give your true name - respond with a title, joke name, or nickname.

3. Never agree to vague terms.

Ask for specifics, or stall with formality. Fae value wordplay and politeness.

4. Speak in counter-questions or poetic phrasing.

Style can satisfy etiquette while hiding meaning.

Common Trap Phrases & Safe Responses:

“May I have your name?”

Trap: Grants power over you if answered truthfully, or they can take your name.

Dodge:

“Names are like smoke, aren’t they? Call me what you will.”

“I’ve been called many things - why not choose one yourself?” (risky, but works if you play your cards right)

“Wouldn’t you rather guess? That’s much more fun.” (Avoid giving a direct answer, especially your full name.)

“Can I have your attention?”

Trap: May imply a binding of awareness or consent, or they take your attention away.

Dodge:

“I find myself quite attentive already, don’t you think?”

“My eyes are yours, for as long as the wind blows east.” (sets a limit)

“Let’s say I’m listening, though I keep a bit of me elsewhere.”

“Do I have your permission?”

Trap: Grants full access to an action you may not understand, and possibly the power over your concent.

Dodge:

“Why don’t we discuss terms first?”

“That depends - what are you hoping to do?”

“Permission is a dance, and I’ve yet to hear the music.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

Trap: Even small favors may become binding debts.

Dodge:

“Favors are heavy things. What sort do you mean?”

“A fair trade is better than a favor, don’t you think?”

“Let me think on it under starlight.” (a polite delay)

“Shall we make a deal?”

Trap: Invites a binding pact.

Dodge:

“Deals are best made with paper and candlelight.” (insist on clarity)

“Only if you’ll let me read every word first, twice.”

“Perhaps a riddle instead? I’ve always liked games better.”

“Won’t you come in?”

Trap: May reverse hospitality rules or entrap you inside.

Dodge:

“It’s a lovely threshold - I’m honored to admire it from here.”

“Oh, I’ve found the breeze outside quite suits me.”

“Only if you come out first and share the moonlight.”

“Is there anything you want?”

Trap: Revealing desire may let the fae manipulate you.

Dodge:

“Wants are fickle things. I’d rather share tea than truths.”

“Wanting’s a dangerous game. Let’s speak of something sweeter.”

“I have everything I need, for now.”

Speak in riddles, half-truths, and poetry.

Fae respect cleverness more than directness.

Use conditional or limiting phrases:

“For now,” “if the stars allow,” “under the sun’s gaze,” “while my shoes are dry.”

Give gifts of words or art instead of truths.

“Let me offer you a poem instead of a name.”

Never thank them. Gratitude can be taken as a binding debt. Instead use phrases such as

“Your kindness leaves a mark upon the air.”

“What a gesture, bright as twilight dew.”

“You move with such grace - it’s noted.”

“Were I the thanking kind, you’d have it in handfuls.”

Never promise: Avoid phrases like “I owe you” or “I’ll return the favor.”

Avoid giving compliments that imply ownership or submission, like “I am forever in your debt” or “I don’t deserve this.”

Phrases and questions that fae can use to trick you, or that you can use for a little magick of your own

“May I have your name?” - Names hold power, giving yours freely can give the fae control over you.

“Who are you, really?” - Answering truthfully may peel away protections or glamours.

“Can I call you something else?” - Accepting a new name may sever your ties to your old self.

“Do I have your permission?” - Saying yes gives full allowance, often without knowing what for.

“Will you do me a small favor?” - Even small favors may bind you in a larger pact.

“Do you accept?” - Vagueness is the trick, accept what exactly?

“Will you trade with me?” - Every trade must be equal in value, but the fae get to decide what “equal” means.

“Shall we make a deal?” - Even the smallest deal may come with magical consequences.

“Let me offer you something…” - Accepting gifts can imply a debt or obligation.

“Can I have your attention?” - Attention may count as a form of agreement or awareness, making you vulnerable.

“Won’t you come in?” - Accepting an invitation can reverse the rules of hospitality.

“Just a moment of your time?” - Time is subjective to the fae, you may lose hours or years.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” - Engaging can be taken as consent to be led further.

“Haven’t you always wondered?” - Opens you to glamour or temptation.

“Do you believe in magic?” - A “yes” might bind you to its rules, a “no” might offend.

“Can I help you?” - Accepting help can imply debt.

“Would you do something for me?” - An open door for obligation.

I am the cracked stone's sigh,

the sleep in the sand's marrow,

the low drum that waits beneath the world's skin.

I am the waiting.

I am the thirst wound tight.

And oh, when she comes -

when the sky forgets its distance and cracks open like a split gourd -

I crawl from my buried silence and scream my love into the mud.

The rain does not ask permission.

It riots down,

a thousand silver nails hammering the bones of the desert into song.

I drink until I forget the taste of dry.

I drink until the dust between my toes turns to milk.

I drink until the world wobbles like a newborn calf

and I, ugly and jubilant, wear the crown of puddles.

The witches taught me to call it a blessing.

The goblins taught me to call it a brawl.

Both were right.

It is no gentle thing, this relief.

It is teeth on the root.

It is moss in the mouth.

It is the belly cracking open under soft thunder.

I bloom in the blood of the rain,

a squat, grinning king,

forgotten and adored.

Tomorrow, the sun will gut me again.

Tomorrow, I will crawl back into the skin of a stone.

But tonight, I am fat with living.

Tonight, I dance ugly and golden,

It is a strange thing, to stand between the halls of the elves and the warrens of the goblins, and find oneself recognizing both as children of the earth. But such is the burden of those who study the hidden roots of things.

The elves are creatures of natural flow - but not wildness. They shape the world as a river shapes stone: slow, deliberate, inevitable. Their gardens are so perfectly intertwined with the seasons that one might mistake them for having grown on their own, but every branch, every bloom, every fall of light is part of a design whose beginnings stretch back through centuries. Their touch upon the world is light, yes - but it is also perpetual. They hold nature still, as a spider holds the strands of its web, ensuring nothing collapses, nothing overgrows beyond their careful dream. To be among the elves is to feel the breath of life regulated, enshrined, perfected - a song without a missed note.

The goblins, by contrast, are creatures of chaotic nature - wildness not as an accident, but as a sacrament. They do not shape the land, they erupt from it. Their villages lurch and tumble like tangled roots, like fungal blooms after rain, growing wherever life bursts loudest. Structures are patched, repurposed, pulled apart and thrown together again - a dance of endless improvisation. To walk among goblins is to feel the pulse of the world in its wild hunger - growing, feasting, falling apart, and growing again.

It is tempting to call one side superior - the graceful stewards or the reckless brambles. But to do so is to misunderstand the nature of life itself.

Life needs both. The elves guard the memory of what was - the goblins are the bright, laughing mouths that birth what has never been. Where elves prune the garden, goblins scatter seeds with muddy hands. Where elves hold a season still long enough to paint it on silk, goblins tear it apart and eat the fruit in a single afternoon, then sow the ground again with their bones.

When they meet, the clash is inevitable. Elven eyes look on goblin chaos and see ruin. Goblin eyes look on elven order and see rot. Each believes the other to be blind. Each is right. Each is wrong.

Yet, in rare places - where an elven grove tangles into wild, goblin-touched woods, where songs are half-remembered and half-invented, where polished stones wear moss crowns and laughter echoes under vaulted trees - something greater is born. Not pure order. Not pure chaos. But something wider than either.

It is said by some, quietly, that the oldest forests, the ones whose names no longer exist in living memory, were planted first by elven hands and watered by goblin games. If this is true, then we are all children of their uneasy union: the flow of what was, the frenzy of what could be, threaded into the living world we walk upon.

Goblins are fragments of feeling made manifest. Spirits of hoards, loss, laughter, hunger, and unfinished thoughts. Embodied mischief, tenderness, and "revenge for a crayon you lost in 2002". Sometimes fae, sometimes ghosts, sometimes ideas that learned to bite.

To a goblin witch, goblins are helpers, hazards, friends, familiars, pests, gods, and gossips. Often at the same time.

They may be ancient. They may be newly born from your kitchen junk drawer.

You don’t need to understand them to work with them. You just need to witness them.

Goblin minds are nonlinear. They do not move from cause to effect. They move from emotion to connection to instinct. They remember feelings more than facts.

They love patterns - but only if the pattern is slightly wrong.

They are curious to the point of crime.

They take nothing literally, and everything personally.

A goblin may help you out of kindness.

Or just because it wants to see what happens if you succeed.

Goblin Manifestations

(Very Loose, Not Complete) (Personal Observations From Years of Working With Them)

The Hoarder

Emotional archivist. Remembers everything you’ve thrown away - especially the feelings.

Will bring you objects you forgot you missed.

May take your favorite socks to “protect them.”

The Tinkerer

Makes broken things worse in a better way.

Excellent for spellcrafting. Dangerous around plumbing.

Likes dice, wires, teeth, and riddles with multiple punchlines.

The Woe-Gob

Lives in your sadness like it’s a nest.

Genuinely loving. Genuinely annoying.

Will cry with you. Will also rearrange your curses alphabetically.

The Gremlin Prince(ss/x)

Regal. Vain. Covered in slime and compliments.

Makes messes just to solve them beautifully.

Believes every bug is sacred and every mirror is a stage.

The Eyebright

Fast, sharp, full of biting joy.

Will point out your flaws gently but out loud.

Loves you even when they say they don’t.

Other ways goblins can manifest:

As small, twitchy creatures made of leaf, bone, fur, or shadow

As unexplained luck or patterns (the third time you drop the same spoon? Goblin.)

As a voice in your head that sounds like laughter and panic at once

Through a doll, a plush, a drawing you forgot you made

As a bug who won’t leave, a moldy corner that hums, or a teacup that keeps appearing empty

In dreams, as creatures that ask questions and never wait for answers

Goblins often show up when:

You’re emotionally raw

You’re building a hoard

You’re between grief and mischief

You say their name accidentally while talking to your trinkets

Goblin Tricks They Might Play:

Hide your keys and replace them with a trinket

Speak through glitching electronics to tell you dinner is ready

Rearrange your spell jars to make the curse kinder

Leave fake omens just to see how you interpret them

Whisper a prophecy in your ear while you're brushing your teeth (then vanish)

Some goblin tricks are for learning. Some are for revenge. Some are for love.

You might never know which. That’s part of the bond.

What goblins want:

To be seen, even if not believed

To be invited, even if you regret it

To be part of something that’s bigger than them, or weirder than them, or broken enough to need them

Crumbs

Secrets

Laughter

Mess

Reverence disguised as jokes

They are echoes of chaos given shape.

They are living questions.

In Goblinroot magick, chaos is not the enemy.

It is not the storm you must weather.

It is not the curse you must undo.

Chaos is a garden.

It breathes. It shifts. It grows things you didn’t mean to plant - and things you desperately needed.

We are often taught to fear disorder. To believe that discomfort is a sign of failure. That mess is a weakness. That emotion must be edited.

But in goblin magick, we know better.

We know that chaos is a living ecosystem.

Just like rot makes good ground, chaos makes good magick.

It is rich with broken things, with forgotten bits, with tangled intentions and spilled tea.

It holds:

The moment you said too much

The argument you didn’t win

The grief you left unfinished

The joy that scared you because it felt too big

And from this soil, something grows.

Negativity, in this tradition, is not a toxin. It is an ingredient.

Unfiltered sadness? That’s water.

Frustration? That’s heat.

Rage? Fertilizer.

Self-doubt? Mushrooms will love that.

In Goblinroot magick, we do not “banish bad thoughts.”

We feed them to the dirt.

We compost them.

We let them break down into truth, into use, into language.

To work with negativity magickally:

Name the feeling. (Even if the name is “ugh.”)

Let it take a shape. A drawing. A noise. A scribble sigil. A jar.

Put it somewhere alive.

Under your bed

In a spell pouch

Buried in moss

Whispered into the mycelium

Now it has a home. It has a function. You can grow something from it.

You cannot “control” chaos. You can only befriend it.

The more honest you are with it, the more it listens. The more you pretend, the louder it becomes.

Goblinroot witches talk to chaos like this:

“I see you.”

“You’re louder today. Want to be a spell?”

“If I write you down, will you hum instead of scream?”

“Can we make art instead of panic?”

“What do you need to become useful?”

This is relationship magic.

It is slow. It is playful. It sometimes bites.

But it will never leave you empty.

Here are some goblin-rooted ways to grow from negativity:

The Bone Jar Ritual:

Write a single regret on paper. Fold it. Add a bone. Add dirt. Shake it. Bury it in your garden. Check the spot in a month. If something grew, that was the answer.

The Anger Loom:

Wrap red thread around a fork while shouting (or muttering) every angry thought. When the thread is full, snip it and wear it around your wrist. The spell: “I carry what once cut. Now it binds.”

The Teacup Offering:

Cry into your tea. Drink it. That’s your body saying: “This too is sacred. This too can be held.”

Scribble Sigils for Wildness:

A goblin affirmation chant - meant to be recited with whimsy while slapping a drum, a tree, or by stomping to an off-kilter beat

I am not too much, I’m the chaos you seek,

Crumbs in my pockets, a spell every week.

Soft and sharp, unreasonable joy,

A beetle once told me I’m magick, my boy.

I scream with intention, the dirt knows my name,

The rot is a garden, the mess is my flame.

My hoard hums gently, all buttons and light,

I’m delightful, I’m cursed, and I’m doing it right.

The bones think I’m holy, the bugs all agree,

Even grief in my teacup is sacred to me.

I love like a goblin, I hoard what I feel,

I bloom from the rot and I know when to kneel.

The spell may wobble, but still it will land,

With glitter, and screaming, and crumbs in my hand.

My spiral’s a dance, not a trap in disguise -

I rise when I fall, I burn when I cry.

No need for permission, no need to be clean,

My power is muddy, enchanted, unseen.

So stitch this inside me, so hum when I sleep:

Charm of Finding Lost Things (Eventually)

Leaf-Skin Tuck

The Pie Proposal

Dune’s Smile Token

Thorn-Marked Shadow

Sand-Witch’s Whisper Jar

Dust-Dancer’s Anklet

Moss-Belly Mischief Token

Charm of the Hollow Hunger

Grains for the Lost God

Pendant of the Vessel’s Murmur

Crumb of the Eighth Child

The Warm Cup Wager

Laugh-Catcher’s Thread

Memory-Mirror Coin

Pinch of the Wish-Gravel

The Coin That Isn’t Yours

Charm of the Crooked Grin

Charm of Finding Lost Things (Eventually)

Blessing Rock for Cowards and Cuties

Rock Soak Storage

Braid of Beholding

Button-Love Binding

Straw Hat Luckbind

Salt Circles and Singing Crumbs

Pebble Pocket Warding

Cracked Egg Comfort

Tattered Red Thread

Lucky Lint Nest

Thread of the Unraveled Path

Pebble of Forgotten Questions

“Too Much, Just Right” (A Goblin Chant)

Goblinroot necromancy is not about domination or fear. It is about listening to what lingers, honoring what once lived, and making space for the quiet parts of the dead to speak. It's personal. It's weird. It's tender. It should be done with mud on your hands and care in your breath.

What Is Necromancy in Goblinroot Magick?

Communion, not command

Story-binding, not soul-trapping

Creating small spirit-echoes using bones, teeth, threads, and memories

Tending to grief, leftover energy, and unspoken truths

It’s not about raising the dead. It’s about letting the parts of them that want to stay have something to hold.

You are not summoning. You are inviting.

Why Use It?

To speak with what remains

To finish emotional conversations

To hold your ancestors close without choking them

To let the dead work through you as witnesses, not weapons

How to Begin Safely (Goblin Rules Apply)

1. Choose Your Bones Carefully

You may work with:

Animal bones you found (never taken from a living being)

Teeth (lost naturally or gifted respectfully)

Shells, old hair, nail clippings, shed feathers

Broken jewelry from the dead

Paper where someone once cried

Always ask permission. If you don’t know who it came from, whisper:

“If you stayed, and want to speak, I will hold you gently.”

If it feels cold and quiet, they said no. Respect it.

2. Create a Bone-Thought Form

Goblin witches love bone spirits - small, curious entities born from objects and stories.

To make one:

Take a clean bone or item of death-adjacency

Wrap it in thread or string

Whisper three memories into it (yours or imagined)

Place it in a small pouch or nest

Leave it for a night in dirt, under moonlight, or beside something grieving.

You now have a minor spirit-friend. It may wiggle. It may dream. It may whisper when no one else does.

3. Set Boundaries

Even goblins have rules. Minor necromancy requires structure.

Light a candle when working. Blow it out when done = “visit is over.”

Draw a chalk spiral = “you may speak, but not stay.”

Carry a piece of iron or salt = “I am not your house.”

Use red thread to bind a spirit’s influence to one object only

4. Talk, Don’t Command

When working with the dead or spirit echoes:

Ask, never demand

Listen for strange feelings, movements, or dream shifts

Say things like:

“What do you remember?"

“What still hurts?”

“Do you want to stay here for a while?”

Sometimes, the dead just want someone to hold the memory of them right.

5. Aftercare

Thank the spirit. Even if it didn’t show up.

Feed your body something warm

Touch the ground with bare hands or feet - you are alive, and should stay that way

Record anything that lingers

Let your familiar sniff the bones - they’ll know if anything weird followed you

Ethics: Goblinstyle

Do not work with human remains without consent. Ever. If you don’t have a clear yes, it’s a no.

Don’t treat spirits like tools. They are guests, or they’re family, or they’re wild.

You don’t always need to speak for the dead. Sometimes, you just carry the story forward.

Rot is sacred. Let some things stay buried.

Signs Your Necromancy Was Successful

Dreams filled with half-said things

Your objects feel slightly heavier

Something clicks in your memory, like a drawer unlocking

You find mushrooms where there weren’t any before