I’m sure this is true of Tumblr and social media as a whole, and not just Witchblur, but it seems like a lot of witches, particularly if they are new, feel a certain degree of guilt when they see all these posts by Elder Witches with Ye Olde Grand Altar with Flawless Aesthetic and Perfect Perfectness at all times.
And let’s be honest.
None of us actually fucking live like that.
Our altars get dusty. Our workspaces get cluttered. Maybe our space isn’t very ideal to begin with, when we’re not carefully cropping out the crappy edges. Don’t lie: at most times apart from when we’re taking pictures for Witchblur or IG, it can look, well… not exceptionally magical. And certainly not as straight-up supernatural as it does after we’ve gotten done editing it within an inch of its life.
So I propose that on Saturdays, as an act of encouragement and solidarity to witches – and baby witches especially – who are feeling guilty for not being something that doesn’t fucking exist, we post #nofilterwitchcraft.
Take a picture of anything having to do with your witch-ness, that is not tailored for perfection, not carefully pruned, not super aesthetic, and throw it up on Witchblur or IG. It doesn’t have to be a working, per se. It can be anything, as long as it’s witch-related in some way.
Here’s mine.
This is my usual workspace, which is a tiny side table which usually shares space with my ugly speakers and in this case, also some random hair shit. Also in-frame is my extremely ugly early 2000′s fold-away caravan mattress (which I couldn’t be fucked to actually fold up today), and my cover-less duvet. In other words, I am more or less a mess.
Let’s see yours. Tag #nofilterwitchcraft and I’ll reblog if you want.
This is a wonderful idea✨
Got to remember this for next saturday! My workspace is always a mess and covered in incense ashes.
Feel free to post it whenever you want! I’ll check the tag and pick some to reblog on Saturdays though.
So I seem to be *actually* getting around to this on Sundays. Keep ‘em coming!
I can try to do this! Most of my witchcraft stuff is in boxes due to preparing to move. Most of my magic comes from these boxes rather than a nice little altar I have set up somewhere.
I just came across this post from a crafty whumper! It got me thinking…. We have lots of community members who write and draw… but what other hobbies do you all enjoy?
Me, I like to sing, crochet, scrapbook, and take pictures (I like to consider myself an aspiring amateur photographer).
I also like to sing, I’m in the same choir for about 14 years now. I do a lot of crafts, but mostly crocheting, sewing, paper quilling. And drawing of course. Also I play pen & paper role play and I’m in a reading group. And I guess the GIF making and this blog is a hobby too.
So I’m at a library in a town I don’t live in to spend time with my nieces and I go to the bathroom and see this sign.
They turned their old card catalog into free supplies people can discretely take on their own.
This is the coolest thing ever, a great way to help people without making them ask, and an amazing reuse of a the card catalog. I’m seriously about to cry I love it so much.
As the name suggests, @ts4-cultural-cc is a finds blog/archive of all TS4 CC that is specific to cultures or countries, whether it be CAS items or Build-Buy objects. The blog has a reasonably in-depth tag system so that it’ll be a searchable, usable resource for folks who are seeking to represent sims from all over the world.
Please feel free to follow @ts4-cultural-cc, as well as submit links you come across!
I’m watching a documentary about rats and this guy is like “they say there’s a rat for every single person in New York City” and I know he’s talking about like population numbers but it kind of sounds like he’s trying to tell everyone in New York that they have an individually assigned rodent friend and I think that’s beautiful.
The next big thing in fandom: Rat Soulmates
Well I’m here, when do I get to meet my Buddy Rat?
As I approached the near-empty parking lot that practically hung out over the Hudson, I took my 78th look at the pamphlet that had arrived on my doorstep yesterday: my 16th birthday. The pamphlet said,
Congratulations on the 16th anniversary of your birth. Please report to: Rodent Assignment Terminus #1 13th Avenue Manhattan, NY
Honest to God, I had no idea there even was a 13th Avenue on Manhattan but here I was. After about two minutes of look around, I spotted the ramshackle little kiosk in the corner of the floating block of asphalt and pavement. It was surrounded by mini traffic cones forming an impromptu runway that led right to the small window carved in the side of the slanted hut. I knocked on the window sill and waited.
The tiny window slid open and the wizened face of an old lady appeared. By my rough estimate, she was approximately 170 years old. “Name?” She croaked, taking a drag off her cigarette with shriveled lips.
“Uh… Addison. Addison Sharpe.” I held up the pamphlet with my eyebrows up, letting her know I also did not know why I was here.
The window slammed shut and I heard the bustle and groaning of the old lady getting up out of her seat.
To my surprise, she appeared outside the kiosk with a metal wire hanger-looking device with a hook hammered into the end. She shuffled three feet to a tiny, manhole cover and slipped the hook through one of its holes. I rushed forward to offer to do it myself but to my utter shock, she lifted the manhole up and to the side with no more effort than it took her to slam the small window of her kiosk. She removed her cigarette with one hand and cupped her mouth with the other. “Addison Sharpe!”
A low, unholy sound emerged from the depths of the hole in the ground. It sounded like 8 million chairs squeaking across a poorly-waxed floor. It sounded like 32 million claws clicking and clacking their way across a cement car port. It sounded like the asthmatic breathing of a mass of nightmares. It got closer… and closer to the top of the hole.
A single rat, about the size of a small chiuahua, emerged from the hole.
“Look, he got dressed up for you,” the old lady wheezed affectionately, and casually moved the manhole cover back into place.
The rat in question appeared to have a pink bow on his head, stuck there with what I can only assume (and hope) was gum. He regarded me, whiskers twitching, beady eyes staring.
“I like your bow,” I offered.
The rat hobbled towards me, latching onto my pant leg with sharp little claws and climbing until he reached my hoodie pocket, where he settled with a decisive sigh.
I turned to thank the old lady, but she slammed the door of the kiosk in my face.
This is the most magical thing that’s ever happened in response to dumb shit I said on tumblr. I love you. And I like the bow, too.
this… this belongs on my blog
Belongs on my blog too. What’s the rat’s name? CaRATacus, maybe?
I love this: an outburst of creativity upon seeing a random fact dished out. I love this wee little story, and I bow to the author!!!
