#sarcasticwitch

[eiwazuruz]

I think I found my new favourite stupid non magik folk question:

“bUt DoEs ThE sPeLl WoRk?”

No Karen, it doesn’t, I just do this for funsies to give something my neighbours can whisper about when I go for my morning run past their house

[may12324]

The only thing i remeber about those books is that vidia & tinkerbelle dated pre-series

100% like no joke, Tink is a bi disaster and Vidia is a flaming lesbian. It's lore

[thebibliosphere]

Hi!! Sorry this is kind of random but have you tried Oregano oil/know anything about it? I have AS and I've heard mixed things about its effectiveness, and I thought you might be a good person to ask!

Oregano oil is one of those things that I’ve heard a lot of wild claims about in recent years, but have no first hand or medical experience with due to allergies and being out of the holistic circuit. I do know far too many people are ingesting the essential oil and not the actual tincture, which is what you’ll get any real benefit from it it does help.

I think @systlin might know more tbh :)

[akinsman]

sarcasticwitch replied to your post:  nonbinary peeps, does anyone else get chest...

that happens to me too!!!

omg. i thought i was weird and dysphoria was all or nothing.

[inkllngs]

andromeda; wasteland & wildflowers & smoke & starlight

(that’s a very very pretty name and honestly speaking, your ask is poetry in itself)sprawling galaxies / so far yet / just within reach / the reflection of starlight in / a puddle- / the perennial blooming within the transient / life after what seemed like death / like a phoenix / made of smoke and the ashes / from which it rose / like wildflowers growing / in what were once called / wastelands

name aesthetics

[homeandash]

name aesthetic: kathleen monica joan, oxalis & wild mustard & moonlight

four-leaf clovers collected in mason jars / rituals beneath a winter moon // a citadel of Gods whispering in your head // you dream a bed of wildflowers to rest in / and bloom creeping vines from your chest

Name Aesthetics

[blueribboninmyhair]

Ok we are not nothing. You know the evening sky like a drunken mother in a nightgown, you know in the morning when she cracks like the axe split the cherry tree and lies all cold on the ground, and the dog inside pawing at your red toes, your pre-pubescent growth spurts aching with the dawn. Something haunting. Like the echo of the rubber ball rolling under the bed that your limbs have outgrown but you can’t afford much better, your room is tilted down on this side, lower sunk into the earth, punched and swallowed, but cursed all the same. like a loose tooth. red dawn on your jam and toast, and your legs stop swinging, you reach a hand in, and yank at that hanging chrysalis feeling, and lick it when it’s free, and this is why they’ll call you bucky butterfingers you just don’t know it yet Something ugly, and childish, and smeared around your gaping mouth like blood, we can just pretend it’s cherry popsicle. I tried to cut my fingers off with safety scissors, you left me all alone behind that fence, those great big sunflowers with moving heads and stiff necks, and yellow tongues, I used to run out back with milky slopping glue in the corners of my eyes and eat all the carrots and dirt and hedges I wanted, alone, until a grown up found me, and peeled me from the garden by scruff of my neck, she closed the bathroom door behind me, told me to wash my face with blue dish soap, and I cried when it stung, when it made my tongue feel like a slug in salt, but I said ouch very quiet with her wrinkly, rubber hands squeezing in under my play-doh ribs, cartilaginous and still soft, like a tadpole in mud. she turned her nose and said I smelled like a wet dog and plopped me covered in scrapes and full of wriggling worms like fly ridden fruit, her black skirts bit away the feeding curl of ants I fed my stale cookies to, she sat me with a towel to dry in the time out room to be eaten by fat clowns with clocks for faces, and half past midnight for teeth, I buckled my mouth, I was brave, crossed arms and wolf fur under my armpits, wild thing screaming for her mother the alphabet backwards smashing doll houses in velcro Mary Janes, the sand box bully, the monkey bar hog with wood chip splintered knuckles and callouses to prove it, covered in scrapes and caved in and hollowed out like an empty pint of ice cream, I have spare band aids in my pockets, like confetti to a cheap magician why are those purple things under your eyes so big? can’t you do something about them? don’t you want to be a better girl?

bees and their empty homes

[heartmagician]

associations: poetry, feminism, mustard yellow, reclaimed suburban aesthetics, lizards

....i have absolutely no idea where mustard yellow came from but you know what??? i’m 1000% into it.