slips-of-paper

anonymous asked:

i know u probably hate daemon related asks, but if its not too much trouble what do think the x-file characters would have?

Cats. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I’ve determined that both Mulder and Scully have cats. Mulder’s asshole tabby has had to endure a lot of “curiosity killed the cat” jokes, as well as taking a certain amount of glee in knocking things off Skinner’s desk. Only Scully’s dark shorthair has seen how often she runs into doors, slips on a loose paper and fall, and generally makes a fool of herself.

Scully’s shorthair looks unamused and bored a lot of the time, right up until anyone threatens Mulder. Then he tends to remind people that its ancestors once hunted ours, and claw out the eyes of whoever gets near.

Skinner has a dog, an easygoing hound that his superiors took as the sign of a loyal and obedient AD. But she’s got a protective streak a mile wide, and the Smoking Man has learned to keep his distance from her raised hackles.

Strike twice.

I will teach you my language.
When to speak and when to remain still.
To let words cascade from patient lips.
I will teach you the ways to say “ I love you” without those words.
I will translate expression and motion into words on a page.
A prized text, ancient on origin.
Myself, a creation eons in the making.
I will show you the difference between possessing and owning. Value in the substance separating your chest and arms locked tight in an infinite loop. Denial in the tangible slips of paper and plastic expertly placed between leather folds holding what is categorized as your worth.
I will teach you my language.
Complex and ever expanding, each moment building the next.
I will show you the moments where you take breaths in anticipation of the line to follow.
I will break down each interaction into individual sounds and letters. One false step and the meaning changes

I will slice your facial expressions into bit sized pieces, attempted to push them down my throat while I gasp for air, for escape. 

I will build a wall between us made from your doubt’s in me, misplaced metaphors to avoid the real problems, and silence. 

I am more than a language can define. 

I am more than a photo can capture.

 I speak for more than what your ears can hear. 

I am alive for more that validating your existence.

I will teach you that love cannot be defined for one as for all.

The ocean greats the shore differently each time. 

The rain falls on new pavement each cycle.

 If this lightning strikes twice we know that nothing was meant to flourish here.

Rain Spell / Storm Spell / Sigils for Rain/ Sigils for Thunder /Sigils for Lightning

~ Rain Spell ~


A spell to attract a light rain and a bit of water.


What you’ll Need:

  • One jar with a good lid
  • A window facing the sun, or a spot to leave your jar outside
  • One slip of paper and a pen
  • Blue food coloring or dye (optional)
  • Handful of salt (Best used when outside)
  • One cup of water (more water for more rain)


Begin your spell by dumping the water into your jar. Visualize the water in your cup connecting to the clouds in the sky, creating a loose bond.

This can be a cloud-like attachment, a string, or whatever else you can come up with. Slowly make it stronger, and create a pulse of energy within it, beating in rhythm to the rainfall you are calling.

Take your slip of paper, and write the location that you are calling rain towards A simple and vague description is fin, but the more exact your location, the easier it will be to manifest. On the other side of the paper, write down the intensity of the rain you are calling.

Now hold it palm upwards, towards the sky. Call upon the air and the water elements, and feel their energy surge into the scrap, and also all around you. Connect with them, and push their energy into the paper.

Add your own force as well, then place into your water filled container. 

Now, if you are like me and like the colors and shapes of magick, you can drop a few squirts of blue food coloring into your jar. It’s completely optional, but I really like doing it, sort of like a color correspondence boost :) And I like the color blue.

Throw a handful of salt into the air, banishing any negativity or obstacles that may be preventing the storm from coming your way. Find a sunny spot for your jar to sit for a while, and then go about the rest of your day. The water will evaporate and then condensate on your jar, and then of course it will fall; right onto the slip of paper with your location on it.


**The more jars, and the more energy you put into the spell, the more likely it is to work**


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~ Storm Spell ~

A spell to call upon a storm, and some heavy rain.


What you’ll need:

  • Three Cups of Water (rain or storm water is perfect, but any water will do just fine)
  • One Large Jar
  • Glitter/other debris
  • Blue food coloring/dye
  • Cotton Balls
  • Grey piece of paper and a pen


Begin this spell by sitting somewhere you can feel the wind. Allow it to consume you and recharge every cell in your body.

Fill up your jar with this energy and then add the water, allowing the two elements to mingle and swirl around together. Let them become one thing; a storm.

Swirl your mixture around and drop in the cotton balls, These represent the clouds and the storm’s physical form. Drop in the blue dye; this represents the cleansing and restorative properties storms can have. (Salt is a good addition if this is your aim)

Now sprinkle the glitter and other debris into the jar, slowly creating a powerful system of energy and power. Place your finger in the middle and energize it even further.

Turn to your grey piece of paper, and write down the location you want the storm to go to, and also its strength. On the other side, record all of the things you are protecting from damage. Don’t be afraid to make the list lengthy and specific.

Screw on the jar lid and tape your paper onto it. Keep the jar somewhere that you will remember to shake it daily, Every time you walk by, turn it over a few flips. Recreate the clouds and the winds and the rains.



~ Rain Sigils ~

“I draw a light rain to the place of my desire” Sigil

“I draw a heavy rain to the place of my desire” Sigil


“I draw a thunderstorm to the place of my desire” Sigil

“I draw lightning filled thunderstorm to the place of my desire” Sigil



 ~ Rain Sounds ~

To use while you cast a spell or burn a sigil, or just you know to listen to :) 

Other:



Colors Associated with storms:

  • White - purifying
  • Blue - water
  • Black - banishing of energy
  • Grey - balance of storm and sunshine/color of the clouds

“I do not dwell on the negative in my past”

This was a request I did for thesigilworkshop before I announced my hiatus, but it seems Rook got around to it before I did, so I’m just gonna post it here instead. 

The intent is pretty straight forward I think, no explanation needed. It should be clear, however, that a sigil or a spell cannot make you permanently forget about things that have happened in your past, but more to help you to move on from it on your own terms.

I think the best application for this would be to keep it on you in some form (slip of paper, on an amulet or piece of jewelry, in a locket, even writing it on yourself, etc.), to hold on to and encourage you to keep moving forward any time you are plagued with negative / harmful thoughts from your past.

As always, if you are suffering from any mental health problems or from trauma, it is best to be receiving medical / psychiatric help for your issues. Magic is not a replacement or substitute for proper health care, it is merely a bolster or a boost for mundane methods. Please be smart and be safe, and get any care that you may need.

*I am not taking sigil requests right now, so please do not send me any asks regarding it!*

400 follower project!

hey everyone! so as many of you know, i hit 400 followers recently, which is a huge number for me. in order to celebrate, im going to be doing a little project!!

i’m going to be writing the urls of everyone who reblogs this post on little slips of paper. I’ll then tape the slips to different places around my hometown!

i will also take pictures of the slips and post them here on tumblr. I’ll tag the url on the slip!

all you have to do is reblog this post by july 5. you don’t need to follow me (though it would be cool!).

thank you again for 400!!

7

A Spell i did just now.  

Sending out a wish to the universe by fire. ( i do these spells the most)

1 lighter/match 

2 Colored Candles to aid in your intention (depending on what you are going for you choose the candles accordingly)

1 Crystal/Stone (depending on what you are going for) *i used a fluoride quartz*

An Altoids container  , larger the better 

and Optional Oil (lucky spirit here)

1 Slip of paper about 1 and a half in. and a purple pen.

 ->  START by Writing your wish on the slip of Paper, write a please and thank you on the paper too along with some symbols ( that are known to be safe) on the slip to give it a boost. The symbols are optional but please be safe.

   -> RUB the oil on the paper, then set up in a safe space ( no extra papers or flammable objects in the space like a good foot radius) PLACE Altoids container in the middle of safe area and PLACE 2 candles on either side of Altoids can.

    —–> Fold paper over then Light Candles , place Crystal/Stone on the FLAP of Altoids container. Light the slip of folded paper and let burn. Be careful when doing this FIRE IS NO JOKE. 

Clap one and thank who ever you feel is appropriate. 

(don’t forget to blow out the candles when ur done)  



Originally posted by stardust955

anonymous asked:

prompt: diary <33333333

The first note was scrawled on a square of yellow lined paper.

Today, I stopped acting like someone that I wasn’t. Put my big girl boots back on and everything.

There was a green post-it note folded up beside it.

Daryl came home today. No new people with him. He smiled when he saw me.

Stuck to the adhesive side of the post-it was a white napkin with Carol’s lip print in hot red lipstick on the corner.

Michonne thinks she’s funny, giving me this, and now it won’t come off all the way.

The slip of white paper on top of it was folded diagonally. There was a wrinkled smudge where she had accidentally set it on a damp surface.

Woke up in his arms this morning. Haven’t slept so well in years.

A wadded blob of yellow paper was barely legible.

I love him. He knows it.

A long white envelope with an address window had been folded in half.

He loves me. I know it too.

The tinted blue mason jar was full of little folds of paper; Carol couldn’t get any more in the thing, so she found herself emptying it out and reading all of her submissions over the past year in Alexandria.

She had made it a routine: every time something happened that made her happy, no matter how seemingly trivial or mundane, she would write it down and put it in this jar. It was her own diary, her own chronology of her life here…except that she’d forgotten to put dates or anything on them to identify when they’d happened. The when didn’t matter so much as the memory of the moments. On the darker or more stressful days, she knew that she had this jar of happy memories to reminisce about.

She really needed these memories today.

The next piece of paper was in the shape of a bright blue butterfly, taken from a butterfly-shaped notebook.

I can still hear the sound he made when he came last night. First time for everything, right? First of many, I hope.

She traced her finger around the outside of the butterfly wing of the paper, gently setting that cherished memory on the pile.

The handwriting on the pink index card was shaky.

He went missing two weeks ago, and he just walked in the front door. He’s alive, so I’m alive.

Another index card, written the same day.

He’s beautiful when he’s sleeping. JK, he’s always beautiful.

The corner of a manila folder was beside it.

Seems silly to wait a whole year. Happy one month anniversary to us!

That was the most recent one that Carol remembered putting in the jar, but there was a little yellow post-it note folded up against it. She paused and then opened it, not recognizing the handwriting.

Today I’m asking Carol to marry me. Wish me luck.

“Carol?”

Carol spun in her seat, hand flying to her mouth when she saw Daryl standing in the doorway. He was smiling uncertainly and looked petrified.

Unable to speak, she bobbed her head violently up and down, hopping off her seat and hurrying over to him.

“Y-yes,” she gasped out.

He caught her in his arms, and they both sank to their knees on the floor. He shivered against her in relief, holding onto her tightly.

“I think we’re gonna need a bigger jar.”

Imagine if the entire world was a communist utopia, like 200 years from now we had managed to fully implement systems of production and distribution that were equitable and we had eliminated manmade problems like poverty. Imagine trying to sit someone from that time down and explain to them just how terrible things were. Imagine explaining to them how not having enough slips of paper could literally get you kicked out of your apartment because you didn’t own it, could render you unable to eat and clothe yourself, how you might have to work well over 40 hours to have decent spending money! Imagine trying to explain this and trying to explain that many people saw this as a normal and defendable set of circumstances rather than the results of one extremely specific and heavily ideological (not -natural- that is) system of distribution and production!

Happy Birthday

Title: Happy Birthday

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: NSFW

Drabble Request: “Come over here and make me.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, give me my pencil back and stop acting like a child.” You reached your hand out impatiently, completely done with his antics.  For the entire day, your boyfriend had been trailing you around and disrupting your work: slipping papers on to the floor, hiding your cellphone whenever you used the restroom, and kidnapping your writing utensils.  He had complained about you working on his birthday, but you never thought he’d be so immature about the whole thing. You let out an exasperated groan as he sat on the edge of your desk and held it out of reach.

“No, I don’t think I’m going to,” cocking his eyebrows, he tilted his head downwards to meet your eyes, a devilish smile ghosting on his lips as he stared you down, “so why don’t you come over here and make me?”

A smile played delicately on your lips as you slyly sprung out of your rolling chair, pushing it forcefully against the wall with an audible thud, ‘So that’s what he’s after.’  Reaching nimble fingers to the blinds of your office window, you pulled them down with a swift, fluid motion before removing the papers from your desk and locking the door, pressing against it lightly so the noise would be almost inaudible to anyone on the other side of it.

“Is that what you want me to do, Captain?” Sauntering away from the door and towards the man poised at your workspace, your hands fiddled teasingly at the button clasps of your white blouse. You unclasped the first five at an achingly slow pace and opened only just enough to reveal the lacy cups of the lingerie bra covering and lifting your supple breasts up.

Steve’s strong jaw twinged ever so slightly, mouth slightly agape as you taunted him from afar. Eyes wavering between the exposed flesh above your breasts and the suggestive crusade your fingers enacted as you ran them down your abdomen and hips, he hovered his hands above the waist of his jeans in an unfocused attempt to rid himself of the obstructive garment, feeling himself stiffen considerably at the sight of you.

Crossing the floor quickly, you snaked a hand across his chest and softly pushed him backwards, laying him on the wooden desk before he could accomplish his task. “Oh no, we don’t have any time for that.” You brought yourself up on the surface, placing one knee beside him as the other nestled between his thighs. “I’m a busy girl, Captain. At any moment someone could come knocking at that door,” you felt him hitch the hem of your black skirt up above your thighs and ass, exposing your panties before you settled down on the area where his legs met his groin, “and we wouldn’t want them to catch you with your pants down.”

Carefully, you undid the button of his trousers and slid the adjacent zipper down in a tortuously slow fashion, making a show of each curve or bulge. Instinctively, he arched into your touch as your quick fingers slid across the span of his boxers, cupping the hardening form lying beneath through the fabric. “Christ…” he sputtered abruptly as you stroked him delicately, thrusting haphazardly into your palm in the way a teenager getting his first handjob might.

“Someone’s very enthusiastic,” you teased as you resumed your motions, trailing fingers across his clothed cock, “but you have to be quiet.” Leaning over his taut and sculpted abdomen, you used your free hand to guide one of his large palms to your chest. “Fuck, Steve…” you mewled quietly as he cupped you beneath the confines of your bra, kneading the flesh there and teasing your nipples softly as you dipped fingers into his waistband and began pumping his cock in its entirety, using his flowing precum as a lubricant.

“Quiet, ah,” he grunted mid-sentence as you circled your thumb around his tip, dipping softly into his slit before moving back to his shaft, “agent.” Giggling in rebuttal, you began grinding your hips against his thigh in sporadically fast motions, matching the speed that your hand fucked him at. Frantically excited at the new sensation, his hand left your breasts and groped at your ass, snaking fingers underneath the hem of your panties to make contact with your warm skin as he tried to coax your thrusts to come faster and move you further against him.  

He threw his head back against the desk and arched into your touch, pleasure rolling through him like waves. Noting he was obviously close, you repositioned yourself so that you lay beside him, mouth pressed against his ear as your hand worked him. “Don’t hold it.” You breathed as your tongue flicked sweetly over the shell of his ear, eliciting a low moan. “Come for me, baby.”

He moaned your name as you sucked lightly at the exposed flesh of his neck, leaving a little bruise and  light remnants of your lipstick as you brought him over the edge. You muffled his exasperated pants with your mouth and tongue as he came, removing your hands from his pants before he could ruin your manicure. “Damn that was good.” He propped his head up with his hands and looked up at you with a satisfied look plastered upon his face as he lounged.

Sliding off the desk and readjusting your disheveled clothing, you smirked “Only the best for the birthday boy, now go get cleaned up. Maybe now I’ll get some work done.” After buttoning his jeans and languidly removing himself from the desk, he took your hands in his.

“Actually, I was thinking you could take off early. I’ll take you out to dinner, we could watch some fireworks, and I’ll make all of this up to you.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows at him questioningly, “And how do you plan to do that?”

“Clock out to find out.” You laughed and grabbed your things from the drawer of your now-christened desk. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you checked out early.

Banishing Problems and Situations

Although specific spells exist for many different situations, sometimes a problem doesn’t fall neatly into any one category. Perhaps no solution exists: the only possible solution is to eliminate or banish.

Rotten Apple Banishing Spell

  1. Cut an apple in half horizontally, so that the star in the center is exposed.
  2. Rub one half of the apple with a mint leaf while visualizing what needs to be banished. 
  3. Put the two halves back together again.
  4. Stick a skewer through the pieces, so that they will remain joined.
  5. Tie the pieces securely together with black silk, or satin ribbon.
  6. Bury the apple. Your problem should dissipate as the apple rots.

(You have the optional choice of writing on a slip of paper, dipping it into mint essential oil, and placing in between the halves, but, you risk the chance of further manifestation. Cast whichever resonates the most with you.)

anonymous asked:

Prompt: motherdick (totally love Abe for that one :D )

The thing about having a swear jar in the apocalypse was that money had no power anymore, so Michonne had to come up with a more creative way to keep the vulgar words from Judith’s absorbent little ears as long as possible. So the Alexandria swear jar was full of slips of paper, containing the less pleasant and most avoided chores around the community. The penalty for using profanities took the form of doing those chores in a lottery.

Glenn hit his thumb with the hammer during roof repairs. “Damn it!”

He drew from the swear jar and ended up cleaning all the gutters in Alexandria.

Rosita found out about Gabriel’s admissions to Deanna. “You motherfucker!”

She drew from the swear jar and ended up washing and sterilizing all of the medical equipment in the clinic.

Carl got into one of the increasingly frequent arguments with his father. “When did you turn into such an asshole?!”

He drew from the swear jar and ended up tracing copies of the maps of Alexandria, an irritatingly slow and meticulous process that took hours.

Abe got caught in a moment of enjoying walker disposal too much. “Mother…dick.”

He refused to draw from the swear jar, claiming that ‘dick’ was not necessarily a vulgar word. Michonne let that one slip by…just because Judith hadn’t quite been within earshot that time.

So the others got more creative in ways to avoid the swear jar.

Sasha’s gun jammed, and she missed the headshot of a walker at the gates. “Shi—Shindig!”

Rick got woken up for the fifth time that night at Judith’s colicky cries. “Son of a…Batman.”

Carol stubbed her toe. “Biscuits!”

During sparring, Morgan managed to slap the blunt end of his walking stick against the meat of Tara’s thigh. “Ow, mother…of pearl!”

As the bedsprings creaked to the rhythm of Daryl thrust against Carol, he kept his face buried in her neck, stifling the animalistic growls that escaped him.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck, you feel amazing…Fuck…”

Carol keened, her legs squeezing his waist, pulling him harder…harder…

“Harder,” she gasped, one hand coiled around the bed sheets like a vise, the other hand desperately clinging to his back.

“Fu-CK,” he bit off the end of the word, cumming so hard that his body buckled against Carol.

Carol arched her back and rocked her hips up against him as he rode through it, which brought her to her own release. Her mouth stretched open in silent cry as the heat in her pelvis burst across the rest of her body, unraveling the muscles in her limbs.

They continued to rock together as their climaxes pulsed through them, until they more or less collapsed in a heap of sweaty, spent limbs.

“God…” Carol whispered, and her hands had slid up to tangle in his hair, where his head was between her breasts, and she could feel his breath rolling heavily down her stomach.

A final whimper and a shudder moved through him where he lay on top of her, and he eventually turned his face out of her skin, coming up for air and using her stomach as a pillow.

“You’re gonna need to draw, like, 68 chores out of the swear jar for that,” she teased, gazing down his body with a smile.

“Fuck,” he murmured with a snort.

“Sixty-nine!” she chuckled breathlessly.

“Maybe next time…”

2

According to Rabbi Bunim of P'shiskha (a leader of Hasidic Judaism in Poland), everyone should have two pockets, each containing a slip of paper. On one should be written: I am but dust and ashes, and on the other: The world was created for me. From time to time we must reach into one pocket, or the other. The secret of living comes from knowing when to reach into each.

“This world was created for you, Minwoo-shi.”

My Name Is John Cherry, I Died At The Age Of 21 Of Wounds Received At Franklin

An early likeness of John Cherry at about 18 years of age likely taken at the time of his enlistment in Company C., 3rd Mississippi Infantry in September 1861, identified by old folded slip of paper in case having penciled

“J.J. Cherry”and incorrectly,“Killed at the battle of Marietta, Ga. 1864.”Verso relates important Cherry family lineage,“Uncle Johnie Cherry Ma’s brother—This is for Leonard.”Image was originally sold in the October 1997 Swann’s Gallery sale (lot 19) with an accompanying “2-page ALS by Cherry to his sister dated June 2, 1861, describing how he had joined a company and would send her an ambrotype of himself. A later postscript (1938), in a family member’s hand appears below his signature. 8vo, 2 leaves. Corinth, Mississippi, 1861.”

Original letter is unfortunately now separated from Cherry’s ambrotype, whereabouts unknown. He was mustered is as 2nd sergeant in the Downing Rifles known as Company C, also listed as Company I.

On July 17, 1864 John Cherry was promoted to ensign (color bearer) to date from April 19 on the personal recommendation of Colonel Thomas Mellon commanding the regiment. Created by Confederate Congress in February 1864, the short-lived position of ensign prescribed the honorary rank of 1st lieutenant for the regimental color bearer, “but without right to command in the field.”

During Hood’s grandiose assault at Franklin on November 30, 1864 — the deathblow to the Army of Tennessee — Ensign J.J. Cherry was severely wounded “while planting the 3rd Mississippi’s colors on the Federal works” according to Featherstone’s own report of the battle which erroneously mentioned Cherry as “killed.”

In fact, Ensign Cherry had been shot in the arm and taken prisoner on the earthworks and the regimental colors captured. Cherry was not hospitalized for nearly a month and then finally admitted to Nashville’s U.S. General Hospital No. 1 where he lingered until January 18, 1865 before dying from complications of infection at age 21. The formal cause of death listed as“exhaustion” secondary to gunshot wound. His personal effects were inventoried and his demise and interment duly recorded as Grave No 11450 in the Nashville City Cemetery. “Ma’s brother” written on the slip of paper behind the ambrotype was Mollie P. Cherry of Raymond, Mississippi who John had listed as next of kin.

http://www.cowanauctions.com/auctions/item.aspx?id=35449

genderkills is problematic because she *spins wheel* violently kicked *draws slip of paper from hat* a small innocent flower *divines sacred runes* while worshiping mao.