paper and twine

have you ever just eaten a lump of brown sugar and instantly felt yourself transported back to the 1840s and your papa has just returned from town and he brought you and your nine siblings a brown paper bag tied with twine full of hardened lumps of brown sugar that he got by trading 3 ears of corn because i have

A Mix Tape

The “mix tape,” as Castiel understands it, is an expression of devotion. Music is a common expression of emotion; music is an extension of the human soul. Though Castiel appreciates music, there is very little close to Castiel’s own heart that plays within the range of human hearing. Reciprocating the gesture exactly seems destined to fail. But a mix tape, Castiel reasons, is a compilation of messages signifying thoughts, dreams, emotions, the soul. He can work with the general concept.


Dean heads to bed half dead with exhaustion, up too late researching what looks to be a new monster gobbling people in Southwest border towns. He misses the box at first. It’s almost the same color as his bedspread. But he jostles it when he collapses onto his mattress and it rattles. “What the–?”

Dean flips open the lid and stares for a moment at the jumble inside, confused. There’s a cross-cut spiral sea shell that catches the light with a milky sheen. He pulls stiff handmade paper wrapped in twine. Dean unwraps it to find a pressed violet, purple petals spread perfectly to display its still vibrant yellow streaked center. There’s a glass bird, blown from forest green glass. There’s a peanut butter jar. Emptied of food, it now holds black loam with one perfect oval stone on top. There’s a rolled up piece of paper with a drawing of a 1967 Chevy Impala, perfectly rendered. Dean and Sam lean against the car laughing, their smiles carefully etched in fine, thin pencil strokes. Dean takes all of these and lays them out on the bedspread, body curled around the spread like a dragon protecting its hoard

Outside he hears a timid knock. Dean looks up and he knows his emotions sit on his face like a ten foot tall neon sign when he says, “come on in.” Cas opens the door, but doesn’t step inside. He looks apprehensive, though Dean can tell he’s trying to hide it. Cas’s face is war-stiff but his eyes are a little too wide, brows a little too high.

“You do this?” Dean asks, needlessly.

Cas balls his fists at his side. “You, uh– I wanted to…return the gesture.” He looks half terrified but his gaze stays riveted on Dean like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat in the ocean.

Dean looks back down at the bedspread. “A mix tape,” he says before looking up with a grin. “You did good, Cas.”

Cas relaxes into the door frame and Dean extends his hand to him. “C'mere,” he says. “Tell me about everything.”

anonymous asked:

What's King of the Squirrels been doing?

King is taking a walk in the woods one day when he comes across an old cabin, ramshackle and covered in moss as soft and green as if it were little pillows, and he wanders up to it, as curious as a child, and peers inside.

There’s not much that he can see through the dust-covered windows except for a few pieces of furniture all blanketed in white sheets like someone expected to come back but never did. King tries the doorknob to see if it’ll open, and when it does, he pokes around inside until he finds something peculiar, a stack of papers all tied up with twine.

He pulls apart the knot and starts paging through until he recognizes the phrasing, the gentle but vibrant tone of voice that seems to echo in his head. He turns to the cover page, and sure enough, the words “The Author” stand there all in a neat row of black letters.

King gasps and drops the manuscript as if it suddenly burned him. He’s not sure how this place is here or why, but it is. And King thinks that maybe he shouldn’t be here.

He turns and runs out the front door, remembering only briefly to pull it closed behind him as he heads back to Peebles Place.

anonymous asked:

opinions on chisaki....?

Terrible, terrible, terrible trash baby who I would gladly punt into the nearest black hole for hurting my beautiful children… I’m still cosplaying him tho

The cosplay glow up is so real guys omg.

Wittness my first ever cosplay, which was of Bowser.😂 The “shell” was just paper and twine and all the other accessories were duck tape. I used spray hair dye to dye my hair. Don’t even bring up my horrible makeup skills back then. 😱

My first costume looked nothing like all the cosplayers who had inspired me to try out cosplay, but I had fun making my outfit and hanging out in costume! So I continued to cosplay and eventually discovered I could incorporate my love of crochet into my costumes. And from there a fire was lit!

Now that I have a few costumes under my belt and I’ve successfully landed on a cosplay style that’s unique to me, I’m happy to revisit my starting point.💖💖💖

I’m also happy to say that I’m sitting here, typing this out in my dorm room as I prepare to begin my journey at art school. Thanks to all the support from my friends and family I’m able to pursue my passion for crochet costumes and learn even more about the fiber arts. I hope I can come out of school with even cooler costumes!


PAIRING: POLY!Hamilsquad X reader

SUMMARY: the boys noticed you’ve been stressed out so they decide to pamper you

REQUEST: “Hey I’ve been feeling stressed and can you do a poly!hamilsquadXreader imagine? Where the boys are just comforting the reader”

WORDS: 1547

A/N: Hey Anon! I hope this is good for you- and I’m sorry that you’re feeling stressed. I’m sending you plenty of good vibes and lots of love. I know how annoying stress can be so I hope everything is okay??


request here

You were stressed. The boys could all see it. You weren’t eating like you use to, you were staying up late into the night, you would shut yourself in the spare bedroom for hours on ends, and you barely talked anymore. They didn’t know what to do, the love of their lives was fading and all they wanted was you to be happy again.

Keep reading

Sophie Hatter’s Fair Chance Spell

Inspired by Sophie Hatter’s improv solution for an amateur duelist. This spell is meant to level the playing field for most any situation.


  • ground cayenne pepper
  • square of paper (10cm x 10cm); wax or parchment paper would work best
  • string; yarn, twine, ribbon are acceptable
  • knife


Lay the square of paper flat on a surface. Make a modest pile of cayenne in the middle of it. Take the knife in hand and pass it back and forth above the powdered pepper, saying:

You are to make it a fair bout. A fair bout. Understand?

Put the knife aside and crease the paper upwards so that it resembles a sort of box or irregular sack. Twist the ends together and closed, and tighten the package shut by tying the string around the twist.

Take the package with you before the bout begins. Toss it into the air before you go in. Perhaps keep it on you for luck.

Fic 345: If the Hat Fits

Fluffy Red Oktoberfest for you all! 100% spoiler free from today’s new comic release.

“What is this?”

The box, wrapped in plain brown paper and a twine bow, sat squarely in the middle of a rather important requisition request justification that had taken him the better half of the evening to make any headway through. Medic looked up at Heavy, who stood in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and with an expectant look in his eye.

“Is present.”

“That much is evident.” Medic poked the side of the box with his pencil, listening for any tell tale clues, ticking clocks, hissing vipers, spring loaded gas devices, and the like. A quick glance up at Heavy didn’t help either. The giant was simply watching with an amused look across his face as Medic approached even this simple thing with the same mix of methodical care and callous disregard as he approached his surgeries.

A present. But for what? Medic racked his brain. Smissmass long since past, and neither of them ever discussed birthdays with each other. It had simply never come up. Spy could have been persuaded to part with the information, since he had no doubt already discovered it, but they were nowhere near that date either. There had been no arguments that either would need to apologize for, and even if they had, this wasn’t Heavy’s preferred method of apology. And in any rate, he was usually not the one doing the apologizing either.

There were no upcoming missions that would require additional prep. There were no upcoming unpleasant assignments that Heavy would want to avoid. The look on Heavy’s face was not the one he wore when telling him that he would be traveling back to Russia.

Medic was utterly baffled.

“I give up,” he finally replied, “Why?”

A sly smile crept onto Heavy’s face. “Does Heavy need reason?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Then open, dorogoy.”

Medit set his pencil down and pulled the package back into his lap,. His fingers played at the bow on top, the rough twine hissing over the paper as he pulled it away and let his drop to the floor with the paper following shortly after. Inside the paper was a box. A proper box of sturdy stock that was emblazoned with a stamp that he didn’t recognize but that was undoubtedly Russian. He felt Heavy’s eyes on him as he pulled off the lid to find red tissue paper beneath. As he pulled it back, his fingers brushed across something soft, furry, and absolutely lacking in a heartbeat.

“A hat?”

Heavy nodded. “Is ushanka. Special for Doktor.”

He pulled it out and turned it in his hands. An ushanka it was, indeed. Dark brown, and almost identical to the one he’d admired on Heavy many times before, but on its front was a gold cross, his own class symbol, that made it his own. He let his fingers run through the furred lining, feeling its warmth and softness, and knowing that it would be more than a match for their inevitable reassignment to Coldfort.

“What kind of fur is this?”

“Bear. Killed with Heavy’s own hands.”

He almost choked up at that. It was hard to find a good man who would kill a bear for you with his own hands and that kind of enthusiasm. Without waiting another moment, he pulled it on and dropped the flaps to let the fur tickle his ears. It fit perfectly. How, he had no idea. He almost never wore hats, and the ones that he did keep around were of the helmet variety. But the ushanka fit like a glove. Of course it did. It was from Heavy, who knew him better than anyone.

“Danke, Misha. It is wonderful.”

The Medi-gun could have been powered for days off of the wattage that came from Heavy’s smile.

“But if you do not mind me pressing,” Medic got up from his desk and made his way around to Heavy and laying his hands on those impossibly broad shoulders, “what is the occasion? If I have missed something important…”

“Nyet.” Heavy shook his head as he pulled Medic close. “Is because we go together, Doktor.”

Medic shook his head as Heavy chuckled a little at his own little joke. Matching hats for men who were a match. It was silly and juvenile, the sort of thing infatuated teenagers would do.

He loved it.

The room was warm, and his head was already getting hot, but he wouldn’t take it off. Not just yet. Not while Heavy was smiling so brightly down at him. Instead, he leaned up just enough to plant a light kiss to the tip of the big man’s nose.

“Ja. Together.”

Binding Spell for my Negative Neighbor

As some of you may know, I have a neighbor that said some awful things to my boyfriend and I because our roommate brought home a friend that wasn’t white. He also has a lot of issued with anyone who isn’t straight. We can’t have a conversation with him without it bringing us down with heavy negativity. I don’t believe he’s a bad man, just close minded and, well, old. So I figured a binding spell might do the trick!

** This is heavily based off of @cunningcelt​‘s binding spell, here **

🕯Black candle(protection, absorption and destruction of negative energy, & repelling his negative energy) 

🕯White candle(destruction of negative energy, peace, & truth) 

🕯 Black Salt 


🕯 Paper 

🕯 Twine 

🕯 Pen 

I lit both candles on both sides of me and wrote the name on my paper. Folding the paper in hand, I drew my sigil on both sides of the paper. While binding the paper slowly, I chanted,

 "I bind you now 

From speaking harm 

May you be kind 

May you be calm 

Keep your hate 

Behind your tongue 

And understand 

Things you’ve said and done 

Times have changed 

Now so shall you 

You may speak again 

When your judgment’s true" 

Drip the black wax first, to seal the twine, and to rid the negative things they’ve said and done. Then later the white wax over, to also absorb the negativity and bring truth and peace to them. In your jar put black salt in the bottom and drop your paper in. Then add your sigils to the jar and lid and store in a dark place. Then remove when you feel the binding maybe undone. 

I changed a few things to cunningcelt’s spell to fit my needs. Thank you to @cunningcelt​ for the inspiration for my spell🥀

Blessed Be🥀


⠀⠀ 🌿 Little Fox Travel Altar Box 🌿


☽ ↟ Willow leaves ↟ Rosemary sea salt ↟ Lavender ↟ Black salt ↟ Desert sage ↟ Lavender incense ↟ Brass button ↟ Matches ↟ Black, white, blue & pink candles ↟ Pentacle candle holder ↟ Pencil ↟ Paper ↟ Jute twine ↟ Acorn ↟ Baby’s breath ↟ Snail shell ↟ Bells ↟ Glitter stim jar ↟ Sea shell ↟ Sun & Moon/Wolf & Fox ↟ Clear Quartz point ↟ Snowflake obsidian ↟ Amethyst ↟ Rose quartz stars ↟ Blue lace agate ↟ ☾


⠀⠀⠀⠀☽ Element representation

Spirit ↟ Sun & Moon/Wolf & Fox figures, Amethyst, Lavender incense, Rose quartz stars, ‘Vulpecula’ constellation, Pentacles ↟
Water ↟ Sea shell, Glitter stim jar with tiny sea shell, Willow leaves (water loving tree), Sea salt ↟
Fire ↟ Matches, Candles, Incense, Brass button, Desert Sage, Strike strip ↟
Earth ↟ Acorn, Snail shell, Baby’s Breath, Willow leaves, Wood pentacle candle holder, Quartz point, Black salt, Rosemary sea salt, Lavender ↟
Air ↟ Bells, Lavender, Incense, Desert sage ↟


I’m still getting the hang of the wood burner but I’m quite happy with how this turned out! ♡

Instagram 🌿↟ ᛚᛁᛏᛏᛚᛖ ᛓᛟᛉ ↟🌿Main blog

Fixing Jacob's Missing Coat

@wanderingnork Maybe this happens before Jacob buys the bakery, or maybe Jacob just forgets about the coat, or maybe he’s more concerned about paying off his loan than buying a coat; but it’s mid march, and it’s still cold in New York, and Jacob doesn’t have a coat. He isn’t bothered much; he fought in France in snow and sleet and four feet of mud. New York winters don’t bother him any longer. But Graves, for which Kowalski’s has become a regular haunt and Jacob a good friend, finds this upsetting. So he offers to buy Jacob a coat. Jacob refuses of course, because the coats Graves are looking at are the equivalent of 26 dollars American, and he can’t afford to pay Graves back. Graves tries to convince him that he doesn’t want Jacob to pay him back, but gives up. He doesn’t have the energy to argue much these days, not when Jacob is so convinced. So Graves secretly takes Jacob’s measurements from one of his suit jackets. He goes to the wizarding market, buys some enchanted cloth, and makes Jacob the coat himself. At night when the nightmares keep him up or he can’t even get to sleep. The next week, Graves gives Queenie a parcel, wrapped in sturdy brown paper and tied with twine. “Here, for Jacob,” he murmurs, but Queenie can’t get a read on him through his shields. So she takes the package with a smile. She takes it with her to visit Jacob, and gives it to him. “Here honey, from Perry.” Jacob quirks a brow, but undoes the twine and unwraps the parcel. Inside, is a coat, and a letter. The coat is charcoal grey, a fine wool layered with a powerful enchantment to keep it dry and one for protection from piercing and tearing. The inside is a soft, silky grey cashmere, spelled to keep Jacob warm. It fits him perfectly. The note reads; To keep you warm and safe. Please take this as a gift. Your friend, Graves Jacob probably cries. Queenie does. And when Graves next sees Jacob, wearing his new coat proudly, he smiles. It’s tired and worn down with stress and sleepless nights, but it’s genuine.


Originally posted by ofallingstar

An envelope sat upon the desk of Miersae Reinhardt. The paper was well worn and smudged with dirt. It carried with it the scent of pine, campfire, and just the barest trace of gunpowder. Upon the envelope’s face, in bold print, it read “Miss Miersae Reinhardt”.

To its side was a package wrapped in butcher paper and twine; its contents were a communicator emblazoned with the Reinhardt sigil, a curious trinket, and neatly folded blueprints.

Miss Miersae Reinhardt,

First and foremost, let me give my apologies. For my absence and for what I must do now. It’s not the Kresser way to run off like this, nor to abandon our ties - especially with folk as golden hearted as you all.

Truthfully, I could be a better daughter and a better friend. Maybe I’ll start tomorrow. Arguably, I’m starting today. But that isn’t the point. 

The point is, Miss Miersae, I’m leaving. Don’t know when or if I’ll be back. This isn’t easy, not by a long shot. Reinhardt gave me a second home - another family when mine had been long lost. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate you all, in fact…this is kinda killing me.

But I never was any good at sitting still - and it certainly isn’t getting any easier with that green glob of doom hanging in the sky. 

There’ve been some folks dispatching themselves out to Argus and I’m following suit. I don’t got any plans to die, not anytime soon. Don’t know when I’ll see y’all again, but here’s hoping when I do I at least got a new cocktail or two to share. Who knows, maybe I’ll have one of those sweet robotic limbs like Dane! 

Think she’d still arm wrestle me?

Anyway. Best of luck. I’m sorry to disappoint you all and to do this by ink. I didn’t really plan this out all that great and we got a ride to catch real soon. Please extend my apologies to the others.

Oh! Almost forgot. I drew up some plans here to improve the comms. Folks went missing and attacked so much, I thought a little radar might come in handy. It’s not perfect, but, the plans there should allow some mild tracking. The communicators will emit a little signal to each other if you’re in within 100 yards of another - little light on the top turns blue. If anyone has flipped a panic switch at the top, the light will turn red.

There’s some plans in there I didn’t get to finish, maybe you got an engineer on staff that can work it out. Something to actually tune to specific frequencies and pick out specific members. It’s a little more complicated and best my experiments got was capturing a signal in 15 minute windows, no guarantee that the emitter would still be in the area.

Lastly, there’s a small totem I carved up and had blessed by Fynny. A little wooden wolfhead latched onto some runewood. It should be good to ward of some minor fel magic, at least for a while. Figured it might come in handy, Argus and all.

Take care, Miss Reinhardt.

- Vanaleigh Kresser

- Vanaleigh Marrowgrove

       Still getting used to the name change.

{ @madame-miersae  @house-reinhardt }

Kissed Often

Request: suho and number 10 please! :)))

10) Your bias confesses to you.

Member: Exo’s Suho x Y/N

Type: Fluff

My feet hit the hardwood floor at the same time as the door buzzer rang. It was the second time this evening that it went off, but the first that it wasn’t accompanied by a solid thud into my mail slot. 

I had been receiving odd mail today and it was honestly beginning to unsettle me. 

It began this morning…

I walked into my office building, the usual weekend drag propelling me forward. I had an inner dialogue long since launched about how much more I needed the money that came along with this job than the aggravation it brought me. 

“Mail call,” my office mate cooed, setting a carefully wrapped brown package on my desk. 

“I didn’t order anything,” I muttered, picking it up and flipping it over. Sure enough it was addressed to me. Whatever it was was covered in thin, brown paper, wrapped in twine. 

“Well,” my coworker asked, not leaving her position by my desk. “Are you going to open it?”

I heaved a sigh and plopped into my desk chair, setting my things down and picking up the package instead. The twine slipped from my fingers and off of the paper, quickly unpacking itself. I flipped over what seemed to be a novel and stared completely confused at the cover. 

“Wuthering Heights,” I whispered, shaking my head. It was one of my favorite romance classics. I squinted, noticing a thin ribbon placed in the book. I flipped the pages to what was marked and was surprised to see a passage highlighted. 

“He shall never know I love him; and that, not because he’s handsome, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same,” I read along quietly. 

“Creeeeepy,” my coworker chuckled, picking up her coffee and continuing to her desk. 

“Mail call,” my coworker giggled again around noon. 

“Yah,” I grumbled, shooting her a dirty look as she sat another brown papered package on top of my keyboard. “Who is giving you these?”

“The mail room,” she laughed, sitting back down at her  desk and shooting a glance my way. She sipped on her water patiently, waiting for me to open the package. 

“This is weird,” I grumbled, stopping what I was doing to pick up the new novel-sized package. I ripped at the paper carelessly this time, flipping over the cover to see another novel I knew well, greeting me. 

I looked to my coworker who continued to stare back at me. 

“Anna Karenina,” I sighed, showing her the cover. I flipped to the bookmarked section in this one, reading the highlighted section. “I’ve always loved you, and when you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be.”

“Are you in a drama right now?” my coworker giggled, shaking her head. 

“This isn’t funny,” I huffed, slamming the book on top of the other. 

After walking the five long blocks home, clutching my bag to me anxiously, and therefore the books I had grown perplexed by, I finally reached my apartment. As soon as the door shut, I was locking it and slid my back up against it, heaving a sigh. My buzzer made me jump as I heard a plop on the hardwood directly to my left. To my dismay, I looked over to the area of floor beneath my mail slot and my breath caught. 

Another book wrapped in brown met my gaze. 

I turned around quickly, pressing my eye against the peephole. No one stood on my doorstep. 

I avoided it for a few minutes, continuing my daily activities that I normally did upon arriving home. Eventually I had run out of chores to do, and met the book once again. I grabbed it, sitting on the couch and tore the paper. Dangerous Liasons by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos stared back at me. 

I swore that I couldn’t breath. This was one of my ultimate books, and an absolute favorite. 

“Now I’m going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realize that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it.” I read aloud, even though no one was there. My heart beat quickly as I shut the cover again. 

I jumped as the buzzer rang again, a soft knock following it. 

I crossed my living room slowly, feeling like I had gone completely mad. The sound of my heart pumped in my ears and I could hear myself breathing. I looked into the peep hole to see someone standing there. It was a man with his back turned, but he seemed familiar, the arc of his shoulders, his stance. I knew him, and I was overwhelmed with emotion as I pulled open the door. 

“Junmyeon,” I breathed. 

He spun, a small smile on his face, but an even bigger smile in his eyes. He was holding a book in his hands which he extended out to me. I took it from him carefully, looking up at him as I saw the title. 

“It was you all along?” I whispered. He continued to stand still, not giving me any kind of signal. 

“Turn to the marked page,” he smiled, nodding, waiting. 

I opened the cover of Gone With the Wind, flipping quickly to the page that had a bookmark placed in it. 

“You should be kissed and often,” I repeated the words on the page, Suho’s eyes not leaving my face. “and by someone who knows how.”

I looked up at him, and I swore if I could have hearts in my eyes, I would’ve. I liked to imagine Suho sitting in his dorm, scanning these books that had become just as close to him as they had to me, making note of the perfect sections to highlight. 

He continued his smile as he approached me, his lips only centimeters from mine. “I don’t know if I’m the best for the job,” he breathed, analyzing every inch of my face. “But I’d like to try.”

I nodded lightly, not breaking his gaze. His lips met mine and I was surprised at how gentle he was. His narrow fingers slowly met my face, his fingertips brushing against my cheeks. 

My life was no great novel, but it seemed to be turning into quite the romance. 

Originally posted by missmanfreda