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stxtso · 4 years
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favorites for witches and fairies alike!!
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MY FAVORITE COTTAGE CORE RECIPES
Would you guys like me to post more recipes inspired by cottagecore? Please let me know ^_^
Rose lemonade syrup
Cottagecore meat pie (Original content)
Creamy vegetable soup
Chewy oat cookies
Spiced sugar cookies
Orange Cake
Cheddar biscuits
Apple butter
Cozy Wildrice Soup
Amish White Bread
Caramel apple cider recipe
Forest Porridge
Roasted butternut squash
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stxtso · 4 years
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I don’t want you to go.
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stxtso · 4 years
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‘mystery of love’ by sufjan stevens but you’re picking flowers in your countryside backyard while your neighbor who you’re secretly in love with plays music you can hear through their open window. (headphones recommended) (youtube)
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stxtso · 4 years
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“it is so easy to be nothing at all,
do you understand the significance of that?”
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stxtso · 4 years
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“I am tired of being human, in this vast open nothingness,”
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stxtso · 4 years
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so well done,,, the ELOQUENCE is visible in every panel.
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Paprika (2006), dir. Satoshi Kon
Artbook: Art of Satoshi Kon
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stxtso · 4 years
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Eduard Bagritsky, tr. by Vera Dunham, from “Verses about a Nightingale and a Poet,”
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stxtso · 4 years
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Nowhere In Particular
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stxtso · 4 years
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Midwest horror short #1
On nights like this, I feel I have been old for centuries. This house, this land, it takes your youth and casts it aside, it scatters your love like the grains of prairie dust on the wind. I was young once. I am young no longer. 
My kitchen is small, with light enough only to see the figure of my hands as I fill up my tea kettle over the old brass sink, and to watch my step as I walk to the cast iron stove. I do not like it here. The walls of this gnarled, old house cave in on me. They are faded, the pattern of the wallpaper nearly gone after years of harsh midday sun.  The rag-tied rugs line the floor, but they offer no warmth. It is always cold here. 
This land has been mine for as long as I remember. I doubt it will ever belong to anyone else. It clings to me, it encircles me.  At night, I hear the trees creak. Their branches bend down and they crawl towards the house, leafless arms reaching to throttle the house, and me, as I sleep. The animals left long ago, no crows come to the cornfields to feast on the season's returns; I wish they would. It is the cornfields I fear most. Something stalks me there, hidden deep within the corn that never seems to age and die. I feel it watching me. At night, I sleep uneasily.
 I know someday there will be a night when I lie awake, sleepless in my bed, and hear the door open with a click, easily swinging open into the dark house, and I will hear smooth, even footsteps climb these ancient, creaking stairs. They will come to my door, and not even God will be able to save my soul from the ungodly thing standing at the foot of my bed. 
But until that day, I drink my hot tea and feel the eyes that never leave the house. And I will wonder if ever a day will come where I escape this hell and leave behind the maze of corn that traps my soul within it.
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